


Roses of Iron

by Porphyrios



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, Battle of Five Armies - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Domestic Fluff, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarves in the Shire, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Found Family, Hobbit Culture & Customs, Hobbits, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, The Shire, all the damn fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:53:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 152,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24373078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Porphyrios/pseuds/Porphyrios
Summary: Two years after Bilbo returned from his adventures, he's made his peace with being back in the Shire.  He still wonders what might have happened if things were different, but figures all that is behind him now.  A mysterious visitor turns out to be someone he never thought he'd see again, and he's shocked by the news he hears.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 1245
Kudos: 1501





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> OK, so this originally started out as fluff, and seems to have gotten more angsty as it goes. Apparently I am unable to write anything that isn't angsty, so I need to make my peace with this flaw in my own character. I promise this will be lighter than _Flame_, with no deaths and drama, just hobbits and food and good times.

As the round, green door of his smial closed behind him, Bilbo sighed in relief. Market day was always eventful, but this particular day had been especially taxing. What on earth was he going to do with all this food? He had bought the first peaches of the season; of course he couldn't resist _those_ , visions of cobblers and pies dancing in his head. He'd been baking a lot lately, so he had to run by the mill to order some flour, and of course Sandyman would have found some of that Southfarthing emmer wheat that made such lovely loaves and flatbreads! While he was there, he put in a request for a sack of sugar as well, and then he had run into Amilda Longbottom, which led to buying pipeweed, and there was still the usual shopping to be done... By the time he got done, he was flustered, out of hands to carry things, and had to ask Ham Gamgee to help him carry his purchases back to Bag End. Standing in the entrance hall, looking at all his bundles and bags, the sudden silence made the emptiness of the house a bit too apparent. His mouth tightened. Peace and quiet, he told himself, just the thing. Let's get these things put away in the pantry!

An afternoon of surpassing busyness followed. He made peach pasties and took them down the hill to Hamfast and Rhoda as thanks for being his impromptu porter. He scrubbed the kitchen (he hadn't intended to do so, and it wasn't the day for it, but there was flour on the floor). Laundry was set to soak in the big tub, a stew was made with beef and carrots, and the hustle and bustle of the day quite wore him out. He talked as he worked. Sometimes to the food, sometimes the furniture, but Bilbo carried on a quiet conversation with the items around him. By the time he had finished washing the dishes and putting them away the kettle was whistling. He poured himself a nice cup of tea and went into his study. The door handle was bent, so it stuck a bit as it always did, but Bilbo was quite used to that. Pictures of his parents framed his desk on either side. On top of the desk itself, a charcoal picture was framed and set between two candlesticks, turned so that the eyes of the dwarf in the drawing could see the room. The picture was carefully set in such a way that it appeared to look directly at one chair. If that happened to be Bilbo's favorite chair... who was to know? There was a tiny smudge on the wood of the desk, just in front of the picture; it was noteworthy only because the rest of the room was so spotlessly clean.

The dwarf in the drawing had dark hair, but the charcoal sketch implied that there were lighter streaks. He didn't look old enough to have any grey; a strong, straight nose dominated his face, and a short jet-black beard almost hid a pair of thin lips, curved in a half-smile. He wasn't exactly handsome by Shire standards, but everyone who saw it said that the dwarf was certainly striking. Part of the appeal was the expression caught in the drawing. The model had clearly been caught in a moment of ease, because the whole face was alight, eyes smiling to match the mouth which appeared like it was about to part and speak. The artist had an undeniable gift. The few visitors who had seen this picture had been amazed at the lifelike nature of it. Bilbo laughed off any suggestions that he had drawn it, but had been rather close-mouthed about the artist and subject both, saying only that a friend had drawn it during his 'travels' of a few years ago (a lovely way to say 'adventure', the local hobbits thought, though they still shook their collective heads over the foolishness of such behavior). Bilbo ignored such mutterings as long as they weren't done too loudly; anyone who approached him directly was soon shown the sharp edge of his tongue, and word got around the Shire that certain topics weren't welcome in Bag End.

Bilbo lit the lamp on the desk and sank gratefully into the cushions on his favorite chair. He glanced at the picture, lips curling in a fond smile. "Today was terribly busy," he said in a muted voice. "I got excited when I saw that the peaches were in. I don't remember if you like peaches or not; now that I think about it, I'm not sure it ever came up. Do you? At any rate, I had a bit of a moment at the market, because I'd bought so many things. I wish you had been..." he looked down for a moment, glow of the lamp dancing across his blond-brown curls. "Well. Anyway," he said, sipping his tea. A long one-sided conversation ensued between Bilbo and the drawing. Any onlooker might be forgiven for questioning the hobbit's sanity, but Bilbo had long ago decided that he wasn't mad. Perhaps a bit eccentric; he couldn't dispute that. Eccentric or not, if he wished to speak quietly with the things around him, especially with a picture in the evening, whose business was it? After a bit, the day had been recounted, Bilbo's tea was finished, and the evening gloom had turned to full darkness outside. Taking his cup, the hobbit rose from his chair and went to snuff the lamp. He kissed his fingers and touched the desk in front of the picture, fingertips landing on the smudge. "Goodnight, Thorin," he said softly, then darkened the room and left.

=

That night, Bilbo dreamed again of leaving Erebor. The kingdom had been in shambles after years of neglect and then the war. Nobody had had a chance to do much cleaning, so a bandaged Thorin was bracing himself in the cracked stone throne, tight paleness around his mouth telling Bilbo all too clearly of the pain from his wounds. The Raven Crown pressed his hair down, flattening the flowing dark locks and setting his braids a bit askew. The other dwarves of the company still wore their armor in the filthy throne room, huddled around Thorin and with sad expressions on their faces at seeing Bilbo leave. Even so, the king's voice was the same strong, rich baritone it had always been, telling Bilbo of how he understood the need to return home, the value of his contributions, the honor owed to him by the dwarves of Erebor, how he was formally pardoned for any 'misunderstandings' that may have arisen (as if that wasn't the most items swept under one rug of euphemism Bilbo had ever heard!)... No matter how many times he had this dream, he always felt like crying. Thorin said everything and nothing Bilbo wanted him to say. He talked of honor, of debts, of valor. Though he was called "friend", it was clearly a political sort of friendship... personal friendship was never mentioned. The king didn't smile; he said pretty words but his face was like a closed book. Never once did he say _We want you to stay_ or _We will miss you_. Even then, Bilbo knew better than to hope for something like _I need you here_. There was something else Bilbo sometimes dreamed he said, something golden and pure, but his waking mind shied away from that as impossible. Nobody would ever say those words to Bilbo, certainly not Thorin. The hobbit turned and walked away, as he had two years ago, turning to face the long, empty path to the great doors of the throne room. In life, it passed in a daze, Gandalf guiding him out to the ponies, but here in the dreams he was alone and it loomed enormous, an impossible distance stretching off from where he stood, the door as far away from him as the Shire was from the Lonely Mountain itself. He woke to wet cheeks. He hated that dream.

He was doing the laundry and hanging it up at the crack of dawn. Later, after the sun had risen, he went out into his garden to pull weeds. Best to get them out while they were young, he knew, and better yet in the morning dew. The moisture loosened the soil just enough to get the roots so that they couldn't come back. Before weeding, he went to check on his tomatoes. They were ripening well, green globes just starting to swell at the ends of their stems, fuzzy leaves a rich, vibrant green. He smiled, looking fondly at the strong plants where they clung to the frames he had placed around them. "You lads look well," he said jovially. "I expect great things from you now! We're going to beat everyone this year at the Fair, aren't we?" Nodding for them, he visited with his roses, hoping that the blooms would live up to the promise of the buds he saw. One early bloom was mostly open, sending the heavenly scent of roses out on the morning breeze. They might just win a prize as well, he thought. One never knew. With that, he went and put his back into weeding. Soon he had made the rounds of the garden and was ready for a cup of tea. Looking out at the freshly groomed beds, he smiled; that's a job well done, he thought. A call from the lane surprised him.

"Mister Bilbo! Halloo the house, Mister... ah, there you are! Good morning, sir!" came Hamfast's cheery voice. Bilbo came around the corner of Bag End to the sight of the Hill's resident master gardener leaning on his wall. Bilbo smiled and waved.

"Good morning, Ham! Just doing a bit of weeding here. How's Rhoda?" Hamfast clutched the wall, seeming a bit out of breath as though he'd been rushing. Bilbo gave him a look of concern. "Are you alright? Nothing's wrong, I hope?" The heavyset gardener waved his hand dismissively, grinning back.

"Ah, no sir, not a bit of it, all's well indeed. Sorry for the huff and puff, just hurrying a bit and not as young as I used to be." Color was coming back into the other hobbit's face. "Rhoda's doing well, thanks for asking, and weren't those pasties the best we'd ever had! You're a right wizard in the kitchen, sir, indeed you are! Thank you kindly for those! Still, it weren't needed, happy to help you out, I must say." Surprise flitted across his broad, honest face. "Oh! I near forgot why I was hurrying! I just was passing through the market, Mister Bilbo, sir, and I seen a dwarf passing through, looked to be heading in this direction." The broad red face showed friendly concern, but Bilbo felt a moment of dizziness. "He, uh... the dwarf in question, sir, he looks like that picture you've got, and that's a fact. Just like, I reckon. Recognized him straight off." Bilbo stood and focused on breathing. Clearly it couldn't be Thorin, as he was off being king half a world away. Still, he appreciated the warning; it would have been quite a rude shock to look up and even think that he saw Thorin, especially when it was someone else. A miner or messenger on their way to Ered Luin, most likely.

"Thank you Ham, you're a good friend." He patted the dirty, callused hand which rested on his wall. "I appreciate the notice. I doubt he's anything to do with me, but if he comes by, well, forewarned is forearmed, isn't that the saying?" He aimed a kindly smile at the other hobbit. "Kind of you to say about the pasties, so glad you enjoyed them. You and Rhoda should... should..." Looking past Hamfast's shoulder, an impossibly familiar form was walking up the Hill. Dark hair shone in the sunlight, and the way the dwarf moved was so familiar Bilbo felt his heart constrict. Hamfast looked at him worriedly, then turned and startled when he saw the approaching dwarf.

"Oh!" the farmer said, flushing slightly. "Well... I see you've got a guest, Mister Bilbo, I'll just be running along." Smiling at Bilbo and nodding at the approaching dwarf, he scurried off before Bilbo could object. Bilbo realized in a flash of horror that he looked like a complete wreck; he was wearing his knock-abouts, having just been weeding in the garden. His hands were filthy, his hair was stringy with sweat, and he was suddenly, overwhelmingly certain that he had dirt on his nose. He fought the urge to run inside the house, shut the door and refuse to answer it. You're being ridiculous, he told himself, but his breath was still coming in short gasps. Thorin (because of course it would be Thorin) walked up to the gate and looked at Bilbo with a moment of odd desperation; only a moment passed with it, though, before the kingly mask came down and his face reverted to the slightly bored looking scowl Bilbo had spent a year seeing. Thorin looked dreadful, Bilbo thought; thin as a rail, and his face looked drawn and grey. What could be wrong, he wondered. And how could he be here?

"Master Burglar," Thorin said. His deep voice sounded the same as Bilbo's memories, like whiskey and chocolate and warm winter fires. Gathering his courage, Bilbo drew himself up and responded.

"Burglar no longer, I'm afraid. Here I'm just Bilbo." The hobbit raised one eyebrow. "Your Majesty." Thorin's too-familiar grumble in response gave Bilbo a moment of lightheadedness. Could they truly fall back into this sort of banter after so long?

"Majesty no longer," came Thorin's wholly unexpected response. "May I come in?" Sputtering, Bilbo was at a loss for words. What did that even mean? Of all the things Thorin could have said, that was the most shocking. Even if he had shown up with a cartload of flowers and... Shutting that thought down, Bilbo nodded and opened the gate, motioning Thorin inside.

"Of course, of course! I'm afraid you've caught me all at sixes and sevens today, I've just been gardening, and if I'd known you were coming, I'd have baked, but..." Clamping his jaws to stop his tongue from babbling, Bilbo opened the door to his smial and gestured Thorin inside. "Please, come in." Thorin stepped into the hall, ducking his head to pass through the door as he had years ago, and Bilbo was swept up with such a flood of nostalgia he almost fainted. "Can I fetch you some tea? Or some wine? I think I have..." Thorin smiled, and Bilbo stopped speaking; for a moment he found himself unable to speak. He hadn't seen that smile since Laketown. Thorin had never smiled like that in the mountain, not even after the war. Despite his apparent illness and his thin and road-worn look, the king (former king?) retained the handsomeness he had always had.

"Tea would be welcome, or better yet, cool water if you have it. It's a warm day outside." Bilbo nodded dumbly, and led Thorin into the kitchen. His mother was no doubt spinning in her grave, he thought as he fixed Thorin a goblet of cold water from the jug in the cold-well. Entertaining a guest in the kitchen!, she would say. The very idea! Despite the shame of it all, Thorin didn't seem to notice. He looked as natural and comfortable seated in the breakfast nook as any hobbit. Taking the goblet, Thorin said "My thanks, Mas..." but he visibly caught himself. "Bilbo." Hearing his proper name spoken in that voice sent blood rushing through the hobbit's body and he was suddenly overcome with the knowledge of just how filthy and unfit for company he was at the moment.

"I... Thorin... please excuse me," he said, hating how his voice squeaked, "I feel disgusting and must look worse. I hate to leave you, but give me just a moment, just a moment," and with that, he raced into the back of the smial with a deep chuckle echoing behind him. He scrubbed his face and hands frantically in the basin, glaring at the dirt in the water as though it had appeared there just to spite him. Flinging off his ratty gardening clothes, he hurried into decent receiving clothes and ran a comb through his brownish-blond curls. He knew he was still hardly fit for company, but at least he looked like a proper hobbit and not some homeless urchin from the streets of Bree. Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and went back out to his guest.

When he got to the kitchen, Thorin was sitting in his chair with one leg extended in front of him. A sunbeam from the round window lay across him in a glowing stripe of light, leaving his face in shadow. Bilbo took a deep breath, tempted to snap his fingers and look at his hands just to prove he wasn't dreaming. Deep blue eyes turned to him. "Feeling better?"

"Yes, quite a bit, thank you," Bilbo said. "Are you quite sure you wouldn't like some food? I have all sorts of things which I could fix, if you just tell me what sort of foods... Do you like peaches?" The hobbit blushed to hear the question coming out of his mouth. Lady of Blossoms, I sound a total fool, he thought despairingly. Thorin, bless him, treated the question as a normal thing instead of the random interjection of someone with no self-control.

Thorin hummed. "I do, actually. Quite a bit," said the dwarf. "But I'm not hungry at the moment. Perhaps later, if the offer still stands. You always were a gracious host." Bilbo flushed at the compliment and finally perched himself on the other chair at the table, balanced on the edge of the seat.

"Thank you," the hobbit half-mumbled. "I... not to be rude, Thorin, but... what are you doing here? Not that you aren't welcome, I'm delighted to see you! You're welcome to stay for as long as you like. But, it's just, I never thought... what happened?" A short, uncomfortable laugh was the dwarf's response.

"I gave the throne to Fili. He was better suited to be king than I was, it turned out. It seems it takes different skills to lead people in exile and fight than it does to sit on a throne and rule. My sister-son is gifted in that regard and I..." Thorin looked down and frowned. "I was just in the way." Bilbo could tell there was much more to that story, but the pain in Thorin's face told him to wait; it was too soon, that wound was still clearly fresh and he had only just arrived. Still, the sight of him hurting was too much.

"Oh, Thorin," Bilbo said, taking the dwarf's hand before he thought about what he was doing, "I can't imagine such a thing. How awful! You fought so hard to get Erebor back, but then you just... left?" Thorin looked at him uncomfortably and Bilbo suddenly realized how rude that probably sounded. "I'm so sorry, good heavens, my mouth just runs away with me sometimes. Whatever has happened, of course you're welcome to stay here and I'm delighted to see you. You..." He looked down and realized he was still holding Thorin's hand. He dropped it like a burning brand, feeling like his skin was flaming with embarrassment. Thorin was smiling at him from across the table, seeming oddly relaxed; much more than I would be, the hobbit thought in despair, if the tables were turned. "Uh..." he tried to remember what he was thinking about before he had made such a colossal mess of this conversation, but his mind was blank. Thorin's smile faded suddenly, and he leaned forward.

"Master Baggins, have I made you uncomfortable? It was never my wish to do so." Bilbo spluttered a denial, but Thorin looked doubtful. "I apologize, then, for turning up on your doorstep. I know it is highly irregular. I should have written, or at least provided some opportunity for you to expect me. I fear I've been rude, just turning up like this. I am sorry; it was never my intention to impose on you in any way. I had simply... well, to be honest, I missed you." Bilbo thought he surely was dreaming now. He looked at his hands, and they looked normal, thin palms and slender fingers, still a bit stained from the morning's enthusiastic weeding. Thorin waited a moment but when the hobbit didn't speak, he tensed a bit, suddenly awkward. "Ah. Perhaps I should go. Clearly I've..." At the prospect of him leaving, Bilbo suddenly found his voice.

"Thorin Oakenshield, if you stand up from this table I will be very angry." The dwarf looked at him in surprise, and Bilbo would have been shocked at himself if he'd stopped to think. "I won't hear another word about imposing on me or leaving, and there is no need to apologize! You will stay here and that's all there is to it! I've missed you terribly and want to hear all about what's been happening," he said, and if the last sentence came out in a jumbled rush, Thorin didn't seem to mind. The hesitant smile he got in return seemed like a gift, and as Thorin began to speak, telling little stories about what this or that companion of theirs had done, Bilbo began laughing and feeling more comfortable. After an hour or so, the hobbit stood and began fixing peach pies while Thorin continued speaking. They chatted amiably enough as Bilbo stoked up the stove, peeled peaches, mixed and then rolled out the crust, and mixed the filling. The crust had to chill in the cold-well, so he bustled about fixing a quick meal for them. Lunch was a potato soup with carrots, though he fetched out some beef for his guest (he remembered the dwarven diet all too well, and if there was no meat, it wasn't a real meal). Thorin was very complimentary, eating his food with relish. He had taken his first bite tentatively, as though he expected it to taste bad, and Bilbo was almost offended, but that quickly passed as he watched his guest wolf down his meal. Afterwards, Bilbo began telling the dwarf about his time in the Shire since his return; as he did so he began making the pies, folding and crimping the crust around the peach filling he made. By midafternoon, he was pulling a sheet of fresh pies out of the oven and Thorin was practically drooling from the smells of baking.

"Master Baggins, I..." Thorin began.

"Bilbo," the hobbit said curtly, mock-glaring at Thorin. The dwarf stopped abruptly, then smiled in amusement and ducked his head.

"Bilbo," he repeated, "I fear we did you a worse disservice than I knew by dragging you away with us. I heard you talking about cooking with Bombur many nights, but I don't know that I ever saw you do it. Your food is delicious, and the enjoyment of making it shows on your face. I apologize for taking you away from your kitchen for so long." The hobbit felt a blush creeping up his face, but thankfully some trace of his common sense had returned as he cooked. He raised an eyebrow at the dwarf sitting next to him.

"Now you're just flattering me," he said tartly. "Buttering me up won't make the pies cool any faster." Seeing sturdy dwarven hands creeping towards them on their rack, he squawked in outrage and whacked at Thorin's fingers with a spoon. "Get back, you!" Rumbling laughter was his reward, and the hobbit felt a rush of such fondness he thought he might just levitate straight up into the sky. Who knew that Thorin Oakenshield of the line of Durin could possibly be so domestic? The hobbit thought that if he had been told even a week ago that Thorin would be sitting in his kitchen, stealing pies like a fauntling, he'd have called the speaker a liar and thrown them out of his smial. The sun had shifted as the afternoon had progressed, but even in the uncertain light Bilbo could tell that Thorin's color was much better than it had been outside. Perhaps he had just been very hungry, the hobbit thought. Clearly his humor had improved as well.

Thorin's smile faded a bit, and he looked at Bilbo with an intensity the hobbit hadn't seen in ages. His stomach tightened with nerves, worrying about what might be said with a look like that. He almost looks like he... Bilbo put a lid on that thought and sat on it. Finally Thorin said "I meant it earlier, Ma... Bilbo." He smiled, but it wasn't the same open, friendly smile. "You don't have to house me if it's any inconvenience. I left my things at the stable, I'm sure there's an inn in town where I could get a room."

"Nonsense, I'll not hear another word on the subject, of course you'll stay here!" The hobbit said, glaring at Thorin. "If I need to write you a formal invitation, I'll go into the study and do so. Stay in an inn, of all the ridiculous things! I'd never forgive myself if..." A thought occurred, unwelcome though it was. He said carefully "Of course, if you'd rather stay at the Green Dragon, I don't mean to pressure you into anything. I beg your pardon if that was the..." Thorin smiled, and this was the proper thing again, a real smile as opposed to the polite fiction of a smile he had just received a moment before. It was fascinating watching the way the tension came and went in the crow's feet at the corners of the dwarf's eyes, Bilbo thought. Whatever has happened to him, it's taken a toll and I want to feed him up even if he has to go again. That thought didn't bear dwelling on; he was here now.

"I appreciate your hospitality, then, and I accept. I would far rather stay here with someone I trust than sleep in a building full of strangers." _Someone I trust_. Bilbo sat and just looked at Thorin, stunned into uncharacteristic silence. The hobbit knew all too well what a compliment that was, far more than polite mumbling about the food. The dwarf's azure eyes met his across the table, and it was the same look Bilbo had seen in the lane outside; desperate, almost hungry, like Bilbo was the only candle in a world of dark places. As it had in the lane, it vanished, leaving him uncertain that he had seen anything in the indirect light coming in from the window. Thorin's hand came up, and Bilbo thought for a moment that he was about to reach across the table. Instead it went to his mouth with...

"Thief!" the hobbit shouted indignantly. Thorin, laughing, bit the end off the pie he had snatched while the hobbit was distracted and moaned as hot peach filling squirted onto his lip. "If you burn yourself, Thorin Oakenshield, I will laugh in your face." Thorin continued moaning, a totally inappropriate sound that made Bilbo feel particularly flustered. Good heavens, he thought, who makes such noises? "Are... are you quite alright?" He finally said, voice a bit thick.

Mfffmf!" Thorin said, eyes closed and face a mask of bliss. The dwarf swallowed and Bilbo very emphatically did not watch his adam's apple bob up and down as he did so, thank you very much. "I am so much more than alright. Mahal's hammer, Bilbo, these pies are amazing!"

The hobbit smiled happily, relieved that they weren't hot enough to be dangerous. He took one for himself, and frowned at the heat still radiating from the pie as he almost burned his fingers on it. He knew from years of experience if he bit into that pie, it would blister his tongue. "Be careful! They're probably a bit hot for you still." 

Thorin grinned unrepentantly at Bilbo's astonished expression. "Dwarves are rather hard to burn, Bilbo. Did you never notice that in all the traveling you did with us? It's why we make such good smiths. Did you not see Bofur or Bombur reaching into the fire to rearrange the logs?" He had, the hobbit realized, he just never really thought about it. Feeling oddly disgruntled, he set his pie down on the rack again.

"Well, how nice to learn of your strange abilities," Bilbo grumbled. "When I need my chimney swept, I know who to call. I won't have to put the fire out." Thorin grunted and gave him a half-hearted scowl, but the effect was wholly ruined by the bit of peach filling still stuck in his short beard. Bilbo smiled in spite of himself. Silly old dwarf. "Now, I need to clean this mess up," the hobbit said, waving at the dishes and cookware scattered around the kitchen. "You are welcome to help, or (and this is my recommendation), you can go to the stable and get your baggage before it gets much later. Piggy closes for dinner, and about half the time he doesn't make it back to the stable until the next morning. If you want to see your items tonight..." he trailed off significantly.

Thorin shot him an incredulous look. "Piggy? The stablemaster's name is actually Piggy?" Bilbo chuckled.

"The Harfoots are quite traditional and his parents named him Pigwidgeon. It's a terribly old family name. He's been Piggy since we were all five summers old. Please don't say anything to him about it, though; if you call him by his full name, he's liable to box your ears." Bilbo gave Thorin a dubious look. "Or try, anyway. Don't give it a go, please. Just gather your things and hurry back."

"As you wish. I will return shortly," Thorin said. He stood and bowed, then walked to the door. Turning on the mat, he gave Bilbo a sober look tinged with sadness. "Thank you again. For allowing me into your home, and even more for allowing me to stay. You are kinder to me than I deserve." With that, he opened the door and went out, closing it softly behind him. The hobbit sank heavily into a chair, thoughts whirling through his mind faster than he could process them. What on earth did he mean by that? Kinder than he deserved? Just what the hell had gone on in Erebor since Bilbo left? The surly, arrogant Thorin he had traveled with would never have made such a statement, let alone the bitter king he had last seen perched on a cracked throne in the ruins of his reclaimed kingdom. His thoughts went round and round as he cleaned, dreaming up ever more improbable scenarios for what would lead to a thin, grey-faced Thorin appearing at his doorstep with luggage. Was he ill? Was he mad? Did Dain seize the throne? Was it to do with the gold sickness? Bilbo slowly plated the pies and put them away, then began to clean up the kitchen. His wild speculations were cut short by a knock at the door. Thorin can't be done so quickly, Bilbo thought, and surely he couldn't have forgotten anything, he hardly had anything with him when he came before! 

Praying that Piggy hadn't closed the stables already for some reason, he yanked open the door. He was already saying "Thorin..." when he realized that the figure on the step wasn't Thorin at all. "Fortinbras? My goodness, I..." Fortinbras Took, Thain of the Shire, second of that name and inveterate busybody, stood on the mat, examining Bilbo closely.

"Hello, cousin," the Thain said, giving his best twinkling smile. he bounced on his heels, the very image of a dapper hobbit, his somewhat bushy chestnut hair brushed back and elegant clothes arranged just so around his rather thick middle. "It was such a lovely day, I thought I'd stop in and see how you were doing. I just happened to be in Hobbiton and I realized I hadn't seen you in weeks." Bilbo wasn't fooled for a minute. He loved his cousin dearly, but Fortinbras had a regrettable tendency to be in everyone else's business up to his neck. He had no doubt that his cousin had heard word of Bilbo's dwarven visitor and decided to come see if there was gossip to be had. The Thain was not at all who Bilbo wished to see at the moment, certainly not with Thorin expected back shortly with an unknown quantity of luggage. Fortinbras stepped forward as though to go into the house, stopping only when Bilbo didn't budge an inch. He knew from past experience if he let his cousin in, he was there until after dinner at the earliest.

"Gracious, cousin, if I'd known you were coming I'd have prepared! It's lovely to see you but I'm terribly afraid you've caught me in a bit of a mess. I've got the house torn apart for cleaning, and it's certainly in no state to entertain. It's dreadful, and I'm so sorry, but perhaps we could catch up another time?" Fortinbras' quick eyes were peering past Bilbo into the dim interior of the house, but Bilbo knew there was nothing to see of any interest. When the Thain made no move to depart, he sighed. "Was there something in particular you needed?"

Fortinbras looked puzzled, a look Bilbo knew was wholly feigned. If it was anyone else, he would have suspected them of angling for food, but his aunt, the Thain's mother, was one of the finest cooks in the Shire. "No, no, nothing in particular, nothing at all. As I said, I merely felt I hadn't seen you in a while, and I was nearby in Hobbiton. I just thought I'd stop by and catch up." Glancing around the yard, Fortinbras strolled over to the garden area. "A magnificent garden, cousin. Your tomatoes are looking particularly fine this year, yes, quite fine indeed! Are you entering the Fair with them?"

"Yes, I was planning on it. I hope they turn out well. So far so good though," Bilbo said, trying to hide his impatience. The Thain made his leisurely way around, eyeing each plant and flower. As one of the three judges at the Fair, he knew what he was looking at, and Bilbo reminded himself to be polite.

"Oh, these roses are lovely as well! Beautiful, and such a scent! Are you entering them this year? You know, Lobelia is entering her new hybrid roses, the ones she calls Mid-Summer Fantasies. She's so proud of them, thinks they'll win the prize." Fortinbras' eyes sparkled, knowing how well Bilbo got along with his first cousin's Otho's wife. Bilbo knew he was being set up but he bristled in spite of himself.

"Those roses of hers are stolen, and you know it!" Bilbo said. "'Her' roses, the very idea! She nicked a cutting from the elf-roses in Bree, and now suddenly it's 'her' hybrid. The gall of the woman!" The Thain chuckled, making a show of looking side to side as though others were going to leap out of the bushes and denounce the conversation.

"Now Bilbo, you know those stories are just rumors," he said, laying his finger aside his nose and smiling in a way that made it clear that he knew very well the truth of the matter. Bilbo's tendency would be to continue his tirade; he also knew that was his cousin's game all along. Fighting his own natural inclinations, he pointedly walked back to his doorstep.

"Well, Fortinbras, thank you so much for stopping by, and it's lovely to see you, truly. We must get together some time when I've prepared properly. Please don't think me rude, but I simply must get back inside and get this mess taken care of. My mother's spirit would rise to haunt me if I left the house in its current state overnight, and imagine the stories if Bag End were to be haunted! I'm sure it would be the talk of the four Farthings," Bilbo said. The Thain was looking a bit put out, but he knew the rules of the game as well as anyone.

"Yes, well, very good, cousin. My apologies for dropping in unannounced. I'll be going." He stepped up and gave Bilbo a hug. Bilbo hugged his cousin back, patting him on the shoulder. When he turned, his heart sank. Of course, he thought sourly. There stood Thorin at the gate glaring like a thundercloud, a sack of items over one shoulder and a traveling case in his hand. Stepping back, Fortinbras stared at Thorin in amazement. "Lady of Trees, you're the dwarf from the pi..." Bilbo's furious glare almost peeled the flesh from his skull. "... stories," he said seamlessly, stepping even further back. I love my cousin, Bilbo reminded himself. I won't kill him. Really. No matter how he tempts me.

"Stories?" Thorin rumbled suspiciously, looking thoroughly put out. Giving Fortinbras a grim look, he gave the shallowest bow imaginable. "Thorin son of Thrain, at your service," the dwarf ground out. Fortinbras acted as though nothing was unusual in the slightest, bowing in turn. His eyes swept up and down the dwarf's sturdy frame, and Bilbo was sure he was cataloging every feature, button, buckle and ring in his mind. He gave the same twinkling, inoffensive smile to Thorin that he had to Bilbo, though the dwarf looked even less impressed with it than he himself had earlier.

"Fortinbras Took, Thain of the Shire, at yours and your family's. Welcome, Master Thorin, to the Shire. Will you be staying long? What brings you here? Are you from..." Bilbo's loud throat clearing interrupted what was promising to be a true flood of questions.

"Fossy," Bilbo said, using the childhood nickname he knew the Thain hated, "Thorin is a friend from my travels. He's staying here for a bit. Now he's just fetched his things, and I'm sure he's _very tired_ ," glaring at the hobbit in front of him, "so I'm afraid I'll have to bid you farewell and see you another day. Thorin, the guest room is down the hall past the kitchen, second door on your left. Feel free to carry your things in and put them down, I'm sure they're very heavy. No need to keep you standing about in the lane." Thorin nodded shortly, still looking put out for some reason, and stepped past Bilbo. As he went, Fortinbras called out.

"Very nice to meet you, Master Dwarf! I hope we're able to properly chat soon. If you're still here in two weeks, you must come to the Hobbiton Fair, I'm sure everyone would love to meet you!" Thorin didn't reply, carrying the bag and case into the house and nudging the door shut behind himself. "Rather quiet sort, I'd say," Fortinbras said, looking away from Bilbo who moved a bit closer to his cousin that the Thain seemed to find comfortable.

"Fossy, if I start hearing rumors swirling about this, I will be quite upset," Bilbo said mildly, though the look in his hazel eyes could etch glass. "It would be a terrible shame if people found something else to talk about. Like where Lalia Clayhanger goes on her afternoon walks." The rapidly-rising flush in Fortinbras' face told him that his message had been received.

"I... well!... Bilbo, good heavens," Fortinbras spluttered. "Whatever would you think I would have to do with anything like that? I must say, I think it's a bit rude that you would act this way. And stop calling me Fossy!" Wrapping his dignity around him like a cloak, Fortinbras straightened his shoulders and stepped over to the gate. He turned at the post, delivering his parting shot. "Do bring him to the Fair, though, Bilbo. Better for people to see what's there than to try and make up their own minds about it." And with that, he was off down the lane, leaving an aghast Bilbo calling after him.

"Whatever do you mean _see what's there_?! Fossy!" There was no reply.


	2. Chapter 2

Stepping inside his smial, Bilbo knew he needed to find Thorin and help him get settled but stood for a moment, resting his forehead against the door after he had closed it. His cousin was a good sort and meant well, he knew, but Fortinbras could be so terribly exhausting. His heart was good, it was his mouth that was the problem. Straightening, he turned and cocked an ear to see if Thorin needed anything. Moving down the hall, he noticed that the guest room door was ajar and stepped up to it to make sure everything was to his guest's liking. Thorin stood in the room unmoving, facing the far wall.

"Thorin?" Bilbo said gently. "Is the room to your liking? If you need anything..." He leaned in the doorway, taking in the stiff set of the shoulders in front of him, the tension in the clenched hands. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Came the curt response, but Thorin didn't turn around. His bag and box (some sort of tool chest, Bilbo noticed) sat on the floor, but it looked as though nothing had been unpacked, or even touched. "It's a fine room. Thank you." This was a tone Bilbo had heard before, hard and dismissive. He hadn't appreciated it much then either, but this time it was in his own home. That's not on, the hobbit decided.

"Thorin, what on earth is the matter? Did something break?" With that, Thorin turned around and Bilbo gasped in spite of himself. His face was pale and drawn down into a scowl, though thankfully his color was still better than the awful grey tinge he had had that morning. The dwarf looked upset, though it wasn't immediately apparent whether the emotion in question was sadness or anger. An ugly suspicion went through Bilbo's mind. "Was it... Thorin, was Piggy rude? I'll soon sort him out if he was insulting." A short bark of a laugh was the response.

"No, he was pleasant enough. I just..." Thorin cut himself off and his mouth tensed, then he looked away and threw himself at the bag of items on the floor, yanking it open and rummaging roughly through the contents. Bilbo's mind was racing at this point. What on earth could have happened to the dwarf between the stable and Bag End? Nobody on Bagshot Row would be rude, and the stable was practically at the foot of the Hill, a bit of a walk but not a stretch of road on the main thoroughfare... Nevertheless, Thorin was clearly upset, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it.

"If you won't tell me what's upset you, I can't fix it," Bilbo said quietly. "I want to help, Thorin. You are my guest, with all that entails, and I won't have anyone or anything making you uncomfortable." He stepped over to the dwarf where he was crouched on the carpet, still sorting through his clothes. He wanted to put his hand on Thorin's shoulder, but sensed that might be the wrong thing to do. "If it was something I said..."

"No," Thorin said roughly, then let out a sigh. "I have been foolish, Ma... Bilbo. It had never occurred to me that by visiting, I might have been interfering with your other plans, or keeping you from... spending time with those dear to you. I apologize if I did so." Thorin might have claimed his throne was gone, but he was every bit the king the hobbit had last seen before leaving Erebor, cold and remote as a stone statue. Interfered with my plans?, Bilbo thought in puzzlement. What could he possibly mean?

"Plans?" A moment of realization hit him. "Oh, you mean with Fortinbras?" Bilbo was so relieved he burst out laughing, which didn't seem to improve Thorin's mood. "Hardly plans, he just showed up! Poor Fossy, he means well but sometimes he's a terrible pest. That hobbit is nosy enough to be in the middle of everyone's business given half a chance. And gossip? I swear his tongue is stitched in the middle so it can flap at both ends at once! The whole reason that he was here was you, Thorin Oakenshield, not me." That got a reaction, Bilbo noticed. The dwarf's eyes widened for a moment, a look of uncertainty crossing his face.

"Me? What could he want with me? I just got here."

"Precisely. In case you didn't listen to a single word I said about the Shire while we were on the road together, this entire place runs on gossip. Who said what to whom, who did what to whom, and when and how and why it all happened, such gossip is the fertilizer for every garden in the Shire. You're new, and different, and exotic. Expecting Fortinbras not to show up was a bit foolish on my part, really, I just never would have expected him so quickly. I swear he must use the birds as spies." Bilbo went back to the door, since it was hardly proper to be standing in a guest's room when technically uninvited. "Don't let his nosiness put you off, though, he has a good heart. He's actually one of my favorite cousins. There's much worse about." Thorin looked surprised and a bit off-balance.

"Cousin?" He peered up at Bilbo from beneath his brows. His hands were busy folding clothes, but Bilbo wondered what the dwarf was thinking.

"We're roughly the same age though he's a bit older, but I've known Fossy... ugh, Fortinbras. I really must remember to stop calling him Fossy except when he deserves it. Anyway, I've known him since we were faunts. His father Isumbras was the older brother... much older, really... of my mother." A moment of sadness flickered in Bilbo's eyes. "They were both children of the Old Took, my grandfather Gerontius, but since there were twelve of them all together you can only imagine how confusing family gatherings were growing up. Sometimes I feel I'm related to half the Shire." Bilbo smiled at Thorin, who looked stunned.

"Twelve?" The dwarf said faintly. "Your grandparents had twelve children?" Bilbo nodded, glad to see that his guest seemed to be recovering from whatever had sent him into such a foul mood.

"Oh yes," the hobbit said, "Hobbits like big families as a rule, but even for us, that was a stretch." Thorin's face was a study in shock. Finally he shook his head in bemusement.

"Most dwarrowdams have three children or less. Four is rare indeed, more would be practically unheard of. Twelve would be... there would be statues carved of any dam to manage such a feat, to celebrate her fertility. To have so many she would be the toast of the entire kingdom. Your grandmother must have been proud of her tremendous accomplishment." Bilbo found that it was his turn to feel shocked. Accomplishment? Clearly this was a cultural difference. 

"Uh... well, I suppose after a fashion. Gran loved her children and grandchildren, that's what people remember about her. That and her baking." He smiled fondly, seeing his grandmother in his memory. "I remember when we would go visit her in Tuckborough. Grandpapa had built her that huge house and attached it to the Great Smials, and on rainy days I could sit in her kitchen with her and eat oatmeal raisin biscuits. There were always people there, coming and going, since Grandpapa was the Thain, but mostly it was family. I would go play with all my cousins, and my mother could see all her brothers and sisters, the ones who were there anyway, and Papa could talk business in the parlor. Those were good times," he said fondly, and looked over to see Thorin staring at him with a wistful, longing look.

"It sounds wonderful, though strange to me. There weren't many good times in my childhood," he said in a straightforward manner, causing a pang in Bilbo's heart. "As the eldest son of the crown prince, I was a spoiled princeling as a tiny pebble but as soon as I could walk there were always lessons and training. And then, of course, my first whiskers were barely grown before the dragon came. My grandfather was... distracted, as you know, and father was always busy with affairs of state, and my mother..." Thorin broke off. "But you don't want to hear about all this, I'm sure. My apologies; it seems I'm more tired than I thought, my mouth is just running on." Bilbo's heart was breaking. He felt vaguely guilty for never thinking of Thorin as a child, he was just... Thorin. He knew from talking to Balin that Thorin's grandfather Thror had been mad with gold sickness before the dragon, then after Erebor fell he had gone on to die in Moria, and by doing so started a war that claimed far too many lives. It was perfectly reasonable that Thorin's childhood experiences with such a person might not be pleasant, and Bilbo felt like a bad person for never thinking of it.

"In that case," Bilbo said awkwardly, "I suppose we have to make some new good memories for you while you're here." Thorin looked stunned for a moment, before retreating to a half-smile that communicated precisely nothing. "Perhaps I should start preparing for dinner. I was thinking a chicken pot pie, if that appeals?" Getting a grunt of approval from Thorin, Bilbo retreated to the kitchen. When, he wondered despairingly, will I ever stop sticking my foot in my mouth? He dragged out his old battered cutting board and began chopping carrots and potatoes, and if the knife was hitting the board a little harder than it needed to, that was nobody's business either. By the time he was sorting through the onions, he felt a little better. When he was rolling out the crust, he laughed at himself; pies twice in one day! He had forgotten how nice it was to have someone in the house to cook for. He heard Thorin's door open and steps in the hall, but nobody came around the archway. Perhaps he's looking for the bath, the hobbit thought; I knew I'd meant to tell him something, and it's a bit silly to expect someone to remember the layout of a house they were only in once almost three years before. He heard a door open, but it never closed again. Grunting a bit, he slid the pie into the warming oven to cook. Closing the iron door with a satisfying clang, he went to see if Thorin had found what he needed.

As Bilbo stepped into the hall, his eyes went down the hall to the door of the washroom but it was closed. He realized with a terrible sinking feeling that Thorin was standing just inside the door of his study, staring at the room. "What are you doing?" was all that he could say.

Thorin turned suddenly, a guilty look flitting across his face. "The handle on the door was bent, I was trying to see if it was something I could fix. I..." Thorin broke off. "Bilbo... you have a picture of me?" Without a word, the hobbit turned and walked away. He had never been so embarrassed, at least not since Bungo had the talk about sex with him as a tween. Yes, he admitted, he was angry at Thorin for snooping around his house (he was far too upset to believe Thorin's excuse, though it might very well be true), but his anger was a distant glow compared to the raging bonfire of sheer humiliation he felt. When Fossy tried to mention the picture, he should have come directly in the house and put it away. Or better yet, when Hamfast had mentioned it, before Thorin even arrived. Perhaps he should never have set it up at all. Without even thinking, he went out his door and walked into the garden. He packed a pipe as best he could, though his hands were shaking with rage and shame. Trying to light a match with trembling fingers, he finally got the pipeweed to catch and inhaled deeply then coughed softly into the early evening. The peacefulness of the setting barely made an impression on the whirlwind inside his mind. Once, when he was barely a tween, his father had caught him pleasuring himself in bed; Bungo hadn't said a word, just closed the door and walked away, but it was the same horrible helpless feeling that he felt now, like something had broken that couldn't be repaired. Having a foolish infatuation with someone was bad enough, the hobbit thought bitterly, but having them find out about it was several steps farther than too much. He didn't think he could face Thorin over the dinner table.

That brought an unpleasant thought indeed. Dinner, he realized. The pot pie was fully cooked, or as good as... he was going to have to go back in the house if he didn't want to have to face a burned dinner and cold sandwiches. His eyes prickled for a moment with the sheer unfairness of it all. What on earth would possess Thorin to just wander about the house like that? Why would he feel entitled to go into rooms where the door was clearly shut? Why was he even here? A thought occurred to him: perhaps he could just play it off, act like it was nothing unusual, perhaps a memento of the journey? Given his reaction, that would be difficult to pull off, the hobbit figured, but with enough references to invasion of privacy and intrusive behaviors he could... no, he sighed. Making Thorin feel miserable wasn't the answer to his own misery; put in those terms, it sounded laughable. Groaning, he stood and trudged into the house to the kitchen.

The kitchen was dark, the wood in the stove having burned down to mostly dim embers. When Bilbo lit a lamp, he jumped and almost fell over. Thorin was sitting at the table, looking more dejected than Bilbo had ever seen him. "Good heavens, Thorin, you scared the life out of me!" the hobbit panted. "Why are you sitting here in the dark?" The fright had actually helped, he discovered. It wasn't as hard to speak now that he'd done so without thinking about it. Wrapping a towel around his hands, he reached in the oven and picked up the glazed iron dish, setting it carefully on the tiled countertop. The crust was a little scorched from being left too long, but he could live with that. The dwarf hadn't spoken, or even moved, and Bilbo turned and looked at him, resisting the urge to glare. Thorin looked like a faunt who had broken his mother's favorite dish, and Bilbo's anger faded a bit at the obvious contrition. "Well?"

"I'm sorry," the dwarf said wretchedly. "Everything I do seems to be wrong. Perhaps it was a mistake to come here." Scarred hands picked at the tabletop, tracing where scratches and dings in the finish made a pattern in the old, worn boards. "I can leave tomorrow, if you'll let me stay the night."

Bilbo sighed, a world of exhaustion in the sound. "There will be no talk of leaving, we've been through this already." Eyeing the pot pie where it was resting and steaming, he sat in the other chair and stared at Thorin. "I'm not angry, exactly, though I'd prefer you not get in the habit of wandering through the house opening closed doors just to see what's there." A wince across the table made him immediately regret his phrasing. Once again, Bilbo was struck by how he hardly recognized this Thorin. What had happened to him to make him lose his confidence like this? He would have expected the dwarf king to sneer, rage, or stomp off in a strop when challenged, all behaviors he had seen time and again on their journey. This new, miserable, fearful Thorin was a person he didn't recognize. "I know you meant no harm by it, and I apologize in turn for my reaction. I've lived alone for a long time, and I seem to be out of practice having people around. Perhaps I overreacted. My home is your home while you are my guest, and it was kind of you to think of fixing the door. It's been like that for ages." Bilbo actually suspected it had gotten bent during the night that thirteen dwarves and a wizard descended on his home unexpectedly, but he'd be turned inside out and set on fire before he'd ever confess that to Thorin.

Thorin looked up at Bilbo shyly from beneath his eyelashes, and the hobbit was struck anew by how rich the color of his blue eyes was in the warm lamplight. "I am sorry, nonetheless. It was never my intention to be anything but helpful." The dwarf gave an uncertain smile, just a bare hint of movement in the lips. "I am more flattered than you can know that you would have my picture where you can see it. You do me a tremendous honor." Bilbo was glad he had been sitting, because he was quite certain he would have fallen if he'd been dependent on his legs to hold him up at that moment. He had no idea what his face must have looked like, but upon seeing it Thorin cleared his throat and seemed to come to a decision. Squaring his shoulders, he reached into a pocket inside his tunic and drew out a dirty, folded piece of paper. Handing it to the hobbit, he looked away. Bilbo unfolded it with shaking hands.

On the paper, Ori had drawn Bilbo reclining by a campfire. His hair was long, curls everywhere, and his head was thrown back laughing at something. His pipe was in his hand and he leaned against a log, looking like he had not a care in the world. In the picture, he was wearing his traveling gear, the clothes Bilbo still had tucked away in the cedar chest at the foot of his bed: the ratty, moth-eaten green cloak, the tattered trousers that had barely survived Mirkwood, the waistcoat whose buttons he'd ended up leaving as an involuntary gift for the goblins. The creases in the paper were deep, and there were dirty fingerprints here and there on the image. At the bottom, where the penciled grasses faded into hatching, there were small faded stains where something liquid had dropped onto the picture. Recognizing the marks of tears on paper, he looked up. Thorin's eyes were on him with his whole soul exposed in them; his lips were compressed and sorrowful beneath his short black beard, but all the longing in the world was in his eyes. Bilbo swallowed, throat closed to proper speech for a moment. "Oh, Thorin," he whispered. He reached out his hand and took one of those scarred, strong dwarven hands in his. Thorin clutched at him tightly.

"Perhaps coming here wasn't a mistake," Thorin said softly. Bilbo shook his head, stunned by the evening's revelations.

"No," he said quietly. "I'm... so glad you did." The hobbit still felt as though the room were whirling around him. Part of him felt as giddy as a faunt, but the rest of him was so overwhelmed he wasn't sure what to do. "We should talk about... everything. But for right now, let's eat." He fought his way to his feet, hating to let go of Thorin's hand but suddenly ravenously hungry.

"Seeing you gives food taste again," Thorin said calmly, as though it weren't the most romantic thing he could possibly have said to a hobbit. Bilbo flushed bright red and turned around, giggling at the open interest on Thorin's face that he never thought to see there.

"Thorin, you can't just say things like that," he grumbled. Passing a stoneware plate over, he found a serving spoon and ladled up a serving of pot pie and waved it at the dwarf who was still staring at him. "Take your plate," he huffed, and Thorin took it with a smile.

"I can and will," the dwarf replied. "It's nothing but the truth." Putting a forkful of chicken in his mouth, he groaned again as he had with the peach pie. Bilbo's heart fluttered. Lady of Buds and Blossoms, he thought, fiddling with his fork. If he's going to make those noises every time he eats, I'm going to die of lustful thoughts before the month is out. Bilbo ate his meal as well, though in truth he could hardly be said to have tasted it. Every time he looked up, Thorin was looking at him. Normally, that wouldn't be surprising, but this was a look the hobbit wasn't accustomed to seeing from, well, anyone really. Even when he was a tween and everyone was out being, as the Shire word had it, 'rambunctious', his partners had been happy to see him but nobody had ever looked at him like _that_. It wasn't as though there had been much of an emotional connection there, of course, but even so... Thorin was looking at him as though he had hung the sun and moon in the sky.

As they were eating their peach pies, Bilbo slapping at Thorin's hands as they tried to steal pieces of his pie, the hobbit suddenly sat bolt upright. Thorin raised an eyebrow cautiously, but Bilbo whipped around and stared at the dwarf as though he'd just had a revelation. "Ohhh! Now I understand! You were _jealous_!" he said, then burst into laughter. Thorin at first looked puzzled, then disgruntled. The longer Bilbo's laughter went on, the deeper his scowl got.

"What, this afternoon?" Bilbo's nod made him scowl even harder. "Consider it from my side," he finally said, when he couldn't take any more of the hobbit's laughter. "I come to visit my... someone I feel drawn to." Bilbo didn't miss the hesitation, but supposed that was something to investigate later. "I return from fetching my things to find that person embracing someone else in front of his house. What would you think?" Bilbo tried to put on an apologetic face, but he kept giggling.

"Oh... oh no... you thought... me and _Fossy_..." Gasping for breath, the hobbit finally got himself under control, made somewhat easier by Thorin's shameless theft of the last bite of his pie while he was distracted. He made a mental note to tell the dwarf at the soonest opportunity what it meant to take food from someone else's plate in the Shire, but dragged himself back to the conversation at hand. "Thorin, of all the hobbits in the Shire, Fortinbras Took would be among my last choices. Not _the_ last, but not far from the bottom. And that would be true even if he were inclined to, how shall we say, step out with gentlemen, which he definitely isn't. He's actually having a rather torrid affair at the moment with a young lady, but that's not common knowledge. Nor should it be after this," Bilbo said, mock-glaring at Thorin who raised his hands in surrender.

"I wouldn't speak of it, even if I knew anyone to speak of it to. As long as whatever he is doing isn't with you, I wish him much joy of whatever with whomever," Thorin said curtly. He looked profoundly uncomfortable. "I apologize, but there's no polite way to ask this. Is there anyone that you are..." He trailed off and Bilbo chuckled.

"No," the hobbit said, smiling a bit sadly. "I'm afraid I'm not considered a very good prospect in the Shire, for all my name and money." At Thorin's look of shocked incredulity (and wasn't that flattering?), he went on. "Being interested in other males isn't that unusual, but it makes one a somewhat difficult match. Lowers the available options a bit, you see. Many a man is up for a bit of fun, but not many are inclined to settle down with another man and make it 'official', if you get my meaning. It didn't help that I was always interested in things that were considered rather unhobbitish, like history and other cultures, though for years I was considered very respectable indeed for a bachelor. Of course, when I went off on an adventure with a group of dwarves, well... I'm afraid that was rather the final straw." He shrugged but Thorin looked aghast.

"You... allowed your reputation to be harmed in order to help us?" Thorin said in horror. "Why would you do such a thing? We had no idea!" Bilbo shrugged, trying to indicate that he wasn't that concerned.

"I chose to go with you. You needed me. It was... nice to be needed, for a change." Bilbo looked away, a little embarrassed. He hadn't meant to say that last sentence, it just slipped out. "Life in the Shire is pleasant enough, but it's deadly dull, to be quite honest. When Gandalf showed up and tried to get me to go on an adventure, my mind said 'no' but my heart said 'yes', if you get my meaning." He smiled shyly. "And when one of the people on my adventure was a dwarven king who was entirely too handsome for his own good... well... what else was I supposed to do?" Far from being pleased by the compliment, Thorin still looked a bit disturbed.

"It seems we were awfully selfish in our quest. If I were still a king, I would reward you richly and build a monument to you to restore any social standing you might have lost. As it is, I will... I will find a way to make it up to you." He was looking at Bilbo with sad eyes, and that was something the hobbit had never been able to deal with even from his little cousins, nieces and nephews, let alone the dwarf he'd been a bit mad over for the past three years.

"There's nothing to make up. Really, it's fine. My reputation or lack thereof isn't your problem, Thorin." Bilbo cast an uncomfortable glance across the table, not lost on the dwarf. "Let's talk about something more pleasant, shall we? Perhaps we should retire to my study. You've already seen it, so there won't be any surprises." He teased, admiring the flush it brought to Thorin's cheeks. When they settled in the study, Bilbo took his favorite chair and Thorin the one across from him. After one bashful glance at the picture of himself, Thorin seemed to focus completely on the hobbit. It was a bit disorienting, Bilbo had to admit, to have the real thing present when he was so used to speaking to a picture, and having both of them watching him at once. Bilbo had a cup of tea and Thorin had a goblet of red wine Bilbo had fetched from the cellar. Once they had been seated, Bilbo smiled over at his companion. "To continue the earlier discussion from dinner, I would hope that you are currently unattached as well?" Thorin choked on his wine and coughed a bit, making Bilbo giggle, though he did murmur a quick apology.

"Yes, quite," Thorin said, once he'd gotten his breath back. "If I weren't, I would never have asked. It seems that dwarves and hobbits differ on such things. We dwarves are not given to casual liaisons, I'm afraid. I never thought I would find... someone I wanted, nor that they might be interested if I did," Thorin said, and there was that odd hesitation again, Bilbo noticed. "My life, as you know, has not been an easy one, and there has never been a great deal of time for such things." In those few words, Bilbo heard echoes of so much suffering it made his heart ache. Fili and Kili had told him of how Thorin had worked his fingers to the bone to feed them and their mother, and Bilbo had seen for himself how Thorin would go to any length to ensure the safety and health of those who looked to him. How on earth had this dwarf left his throne? He was a king to the very marrow of his bones, Bilbo thought in confusion; it made no sense. "With the current situation, though, I..." Thorin looked down at the goblet in his hands. "I don't know how to proceed with this, to be honest. There is no lore for a courtship between a dwarf and someone of another race; there is no _shahathur_ to arrange our terms, no set contract, no chaperone for our _adal_... I confess I never made much study of such things because I never expected to find... someone like you." Bilbo had no idea what Thorin was talking about, and was about to say so when the dwarf spoke again. "So tell me, then. How do your people do such things? What are your courting rituals here in the Shire?" Oh, Bilbo thought. Oh my. Well, this should be interesting.

"Hm. Well." Taking a sip of tea to cover his discomfort, the hobbit thought for a moment. "There isn't a formal process, per se, at least for most of it. Certainly no terms or contracts or whatever you were describing." Thorin looked scandalized, and Bilbo hurried on with his explanation. "When two people in the Shire take a romantic interest in one another, they begin to spend time together. If they are young, their families are involved; honestly, given the gossipy nature of the Shire, the families are always involved to some degree. There are marriages where the families don't see eye to eye, but it creates a great deal of tension for absolutely everyone. The couple will exchange small gifts of food and flowers and spend time together to make sure they are properly compatible. At first they are chaperoned, at least until they determine whether or not they will marry. Once the betrothal is announced, the couple are allowed to be alone together, and from that point forward they are basically considered married; nobody raises an eyebrow unless the goings-on are too atrocious. The rules are followed a lot more strictly when the people are young and of good family, of course; some of the folk out in the Farthings get up to all sorts of things you'd never dream of doing in Hobbiton or Bywater, I assure you. The wedding is a formal ceremony followed by a huge party, and there are flowers, gifts are given to everyone who comes, and it's a grand time. Then the young couple are taken to their new home by the wedding party and put across the threshold." Bilbo smiled fondly. "I've seen some fairly rowdy housings in my day, but it's all in good fun. Of course, most of those customs are for a young couple who are to be man and wife; for two men it's a lot more informal, no big ceremonies or any of that. They just set up house together and get on with things." His smile became a little wistful. "I think my mother was always a little sad that I wasn't interested in lasses, if only because she'd never get to plan a huge wedding with all the flowers in the Shire."

"I see," Thorin muttered, though the expression on his face made it quite clear that he didn't.

"Honestly, at the risk of sounding completely scandalous, nobody would care if I just settled down with someone else... I mean, if it came to that. Of course there would be gossip, but that's a given in the Shire. Still and all, I'm a grown hobbit, my parents are dead... half of my extended family don't speak to me if they can help it (the Baggins side) and the other half are so much more outre than I am that I'm thought to be a stick in the mud (which would be the Took side). It's quite rare for two men to have any sort of ceremony, so there's no need to make a big production out of whatever we do. If we decide that we are compatible, then we just... get on with things, I suppose." Thorin's glare was positively thunderous. Now this was the dwarven king Bilbo was familiar with; ah, Bilbo thought, good to know he's still in there somewhere.

"I could never treat you in such a shameful way!" Thorin said stiffly, face a mask of disapproval. "You have told me that I already caused you problems once. I am deeply ashamed to hear that I have caused you disgrace once before, even unknowingly; I refuse to disgrace you again! Without tokens and ceremonies, how would others know that we were _mashahnen_? I would be proud to wear your beads, if that day ever came, and to see you wear mine would be my proudest moment." The dwarf looked at Bilbo's face, took in the confusion there, and dropped his eyes. He took a deep breath and quite obviously fought for calm. "I see our people are very different, and that is to be expected. I apologize if I have offended you in any way. I do not mean to seem like I am judging the ways of this place, it is just... not what I am accustomed to." His gaze came back up, and Bilbo felt pinned to his chair by the earnest adoration there. Oh Thorin, he thought in amazement, why couldn't you have looked at me like that in Erebor? I'd never have left! "I have the greatest respect for you, Bilbo, and I wish to show that to everyone; it is important to me that others see how much I value the opportunity to court you. You are a precious jewel, the most precious, and it is up to me to prove myself worthy of your regard. This may seem strange to you, but it is the way of my people. It is literally in our bones and blood. I could not do otherwise, even if I were so inclined." The longing in those eyes went through Bilbo like a knife. He couldn't reach Thorin's hand from where he was sitting, so he got up and sat beside the dwarf's chair on the floor, taking the dwarf's hand in his own. He had lost the sight of those eyes, but touch was even better. The fingers in his were cold and stiff with tension, and the hobbit could feel from where he leaned against Thorin's legs that he was trembling.

"Oh Thorin..." Bilbo murmured. "You are more than worthy, whatever that means, and you have had my regard, as you put it, for longer than you know. Let me tell you something." He slid over to where he could rest his shoulders against Thorin's legs, which were still shaking. His fingers were intertwined with his dwarf's (and he is mine, Bilbo thought suddenly, I see that now), resting on his shoulder. "I knew my heart was in trouble from the moment I saw you. You were so handsome, standing in my door backlit by moonlight, and once you came in my house you brought it alive. I didn't realize how how dull and bland my life was, until you came storming into it. You were like the sun pouring into a room that had been shut up and fusty for a long time. And you brought that passion to everything you did. Passion isn't... common in the Shire." He ran his thumb over the strong fingers in his grasp, feeling the bumps and ridges of the knuckles, the fine dark hairs on the backs of the fingers. "Now, I will say, you were crashingly rude to me in the first part of our journey." A wordless sound of protest came from Thorin, but Bilbo held up a finger on his free hand without even looking around and continued speaking. "Don't try to argue with me, you ridiculous dwarf, you know I am telling the truth! You sneered and sniped and picked at me to the point where I was half-mad from it! I was on the verge of tears from the troll cave until we got separated at the goblins, and you know it. All I kept thinking was 'they wanted me, they need me' because in light of that, what I had waiting here at Bag End wasn't much. When I was feeling particularly down, I would remember that you gave me a sword to defend myself, so you must not have thought I was _completely_ useless. It helped." A sniffle came from behind him and Bilbo refused to turn. If Thorin was crying he wouldn't be able to keep speaking; that sight would crack his heart like an egg. These things needed to be said, but they were hard enough to say without having to look at the person. Still, he squeezed the fingers in his own for comfort, and the grip he got in return was almost painful. "When you embraced me on the Carrock, Thorin, I could have died of happiness in that moment. Not just from wanting you, although by that point I was already head over heels with you. But after that it was... alright. I felt accepted and wanted, all I ever needed from your little group, from you. I never held out any real hope that you might have any interest in me, because why would you? I was a hobbit, you were a dwarf, and even more, you were a king and I was a... well, I was just Bilbo. I had nothing to offer you." He shrugged, and Thorin made a harsh sound of denial, but Bilbo wasn't done. "Let me finish. This is hard enough to say as it is, but I think if we're going to try to be... more to each other, we should clear the air first. You need to know these things. There shouldn't be secrets between us."

"Very well. As you say," came Thorin's voice, choked and awful-sounding. Bilbo patted Thorin's captured hand with his free one in thanks.

The hobbit took a deep breath. "When you threatened me on the walls, I know you weren't yourself. I know it now, and I knew it then. It was obvious. But you still broke my heart, Thorin." Now Bilbo felt himself crying, tears sliding down his cheeks remembering that awful feeling, hanging over vertiginous heights, looking down at jagged rocks and being cursed by the dwarf he loved in spite of himself. After a single sob, he pulled himself together and continued, though Thorin was trembling behind him like a reed, legs vibrating against his back. "After the battle, I saw that you were recovered from your madness, and I was glad for you. I saw the Thorin I knew again, though you looked so... so desperately unhappy. And I kept waiting for someone to ask me to stay, but... but all that anyone said were things like how brave I was and how I must want to get home. How the kingdom of Erebor owed me a debt, or pointless twaddle about honor and glory. I never wanted debts, or honor, or glory, or any of that, Thorin. I certainly didn't want any of your bloody _gold_. I just wanted friends," and with that Bilbo really was crying. He never thought he would ever lance this particular wound of the mind, but it was all coming out now, and he could barely speak. "I just wanted friends," he sobbed, putting his face in his hands, pressing the back of Thorin's hand to his eyes.

"I should have died," Thorin said in a harsh voice. "I wish now that I had died, rather than make you suffer in such a way. I could never repay such a dishonor to you if I live a thousand years." Bilbo felt Thorin's free hand rummaging at his belt. His other hand drew away from Bilbo's, and the hobbit turned with bleary eyes to see Thorin holding out his braid with one hand, belt knife in the other. With a cry, Bilbo forced the knife away.

"Are you completely mad? What are you doing?" The hobbit hissed furiously, blinking tears from his eyes. "Put that knife down this instant!" Thorin's startled look told him everything he needed to know. Giving a huff of disgust while sniffling (and why must crying always be so messy, he wondered), he held out his hand. "Give me the knife." Thorin's eyes lowered in shame and he passed it over, hunching lower in his chair. When Bilbo set it down firmly out of the dwarf's reach, he received another incredulous look. "Whatever dwarven foolishness you think you're about to do, think again. If you cut your beautiful hair I will be livid with you, Thorin Oakenshield, and I'm not interested in one of your grand, dramatic gestures right now. I'm trying to tell you how I felt and how I feel, this isn't some... some ledger, where we have to tally goods and ills done for and to each other!"

"I thought..." Thorin mumbled. "I thought it wasn't enough that I was cutting my hair, that you wanted to do it. That would be... worse." Bilbo wasn't sure what his face looked like, but gauging from Thorin's reaction, he was glad he couldn't see himself.

" _Nobody_ is cutting your hair, Thorin. I'm not telling you these things to punish you, or to try to get you to punish yourself!" Making an exasperated noise, Bilbo sat back down, this time across Thorin's lap (the better to keep an eye on him, Bilbo thought, and immediately cursed himself for telling half-truths). He noted with concern just how thin Thorin felt under all those clothes; sitting on his lap, it was hard to hide. The dwarf stared at him, aghast. Despite his concern, Bilbo grinned cheekily. "Since dwarves seem to like everything to be formal and stated clearly, let me try this. I, Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo Baggins, hereby formally forgive Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, of the line of Durin, for any offenses or harms he has committed to me, intentionally or unintentionally, during the entire time of our previous acquaintance. As of tonight, we are starting from a clean slate." He giggled, gently stroking one of Thorin's recently endangered braids. The dwarf was sitting with a completely stunned expression on his face, staring at Bilbo as though he'd just grown a second head. "Is that sufficient, or do I have to get a lawyer to draw up a contract for it?"

Thorin swallowed hard, then sighed and seemed to dissolve into the chair with relief. "I... that..." He laughed breathlessly, then tried again. "I have never been so forcibly reminded that you are not a dwarf in my life. And I have never been more delighted by that fact." His hand came up tentatively and stroked Bilbo's shoulder, reminding the hobbit of nothing so much as a toddler learning to stroke a cat. "You are much kinder and more forgiving than I deserve, Bilbo. No dwarf would have ever said such a thing. Although I must tell you," and the hobbit was overjoyed to see a trace of some positive emotion returning to the dwarf's eyes, "for someone who isn't my spouse to sit on my lap and touch my hair, even in private, is a scandal worthy of censure in any dwarven kingdom." Bilbo gaped for a moment, surprised. Fair was fair, he supposed; he didn't know anything of dwarven culture, so he was sure he was going to put his foot in it at least as much as Thorin, assuming he hadn't already.

"Good thing we aren't in a dwarven kingdom then," was the hobbit's pert reply, but he clambered off of Thorin's lap with a kiss to the tip of his nose. The dwarf's deep laugh was a welcome sound. "Speaking of cultural differences..." Bilbo almost hated to bring this up, but he knew it was likely to be a sticking point. "At dinner, you took food off my plate. I know when we were traveling together, I saw you dwarves doing that to each other all the time, but you should know that here in the Shire that is a way to give serious offense." Holding up his hand to forestall Thorin's urge to punish himself (and haven't we had enough of that for one night, the hobbit sighed), he went on, "I knew you didn't mean anything by it, so it's fine. I tell you only because you will doubtless be in plenty of company here, and if someone else sees it they might take it amiss. There's a lot of protocol around food, you'll find; it's important to hobbits." Bilbo smiled. "In case you hadn't noticed."

Thorin nodded, still a bit chagrined but clearly trying to understand. "So... food is like the gold of the Shire?" Bilbo laughed at that, then on reconsidering realized that it was a very apt comparison.

"Yes, that's quite a good way to look at it, actually!" A thought struck him. "Wait here." He scampered off, leaving Thorin sitting looking confounded in his chair. When he returned, Bilbo had one of his peach pies on a plate, along with a spare plate and two forks. "Now, it's late so we'll just cover the basics. If you steal food from my plate, it's an insult, as I said. It means you don't think I deserve to eat it, and that's... well, that's a fighting offense, frankly. However, if I give you food from my plate," Bilbo cut off a piece of pie, ate it daintily, then cut off another piece and set it on a second plate and passed it to Thorin. "To give you food like this is a compliment. It says I think well of you." Thorin took his fork, eyeing Bilbo to make sure he was behaving correctly, and at his nod, took the bite of pie and put it in his mouth. Another groan made Bilbo's pants feel uncomfortably tight. "Please don't make those noises when you eat in public, or else every single woman and half the men in the Shire will be sitting in your lap, scandal or no." He laughed loudly at Thorin's shocked expression, then cut another piece of pie. This one he kept on the tines, extending it out to Thorin. "Now if I feed you from my fork... that's flirting, even if we're already married. The only exception is parents feeding their children, where they will do that just to get the child to eat. But feeding someone from your own implements is very daring, a spoon even more so than a fork." He stole another quick bite for himself, knife and fork flashing. The last piece of pie, Bilbo picked up in his fingers and held it out, eyes black with desire. "If I feed you from my fingers... well... that's only done at home, for obvious reasons." Thorin looked at the pie and the expression on the hobbit's face, then leaned in slowly and opened his mouth. The hobbit's breath caught. Bilbo admired the white teeth he saw framed by the short black beard, then set his morsel on the dwarf's crimson tongue. When Thorin's lips closed over the tips of his fingers, he felt that rough tongue swipe along his fingertips. Oh sweet Lady, the hobbit thought, I'm in serious trouble. Breathing heavily, he looked at Thorin, who was staring back at him with lust-blown eyes. "I, uh," he said, fighting to get his mind back to something approaching sanity, "it's been a long night. We should get some rest."

"As you say," Thorin replied. And if his voice sounded a little rough, that was alright too. When they retired, Bilbo leaned his head against his bedroom door. What a day. Apparently he wasn't done with adventures after all.


	3. Chapter 3

Bilbo woke from a dream about taunting children, running in circles around him. He lay in bed, racking his brain to try to remember the point of the thing, but it completely eluded him. Still half-asleep, he stumbled from the bed and opened the window, only to have a gust of wind blow rain into his face. The view from the bedroom was bleak, dark clouds louring over the Hill and the oak and elm trees tossing in the breeze that was blowing sheets of rain. He hurriedly closed the shutters again. Rain was fine, he supposed. He had enough food in the larder for at least a few days and... his knees suddenly dropped him onto the side of the bed. He had completely forgotten the events of the day before. He wasn't entirely convinced that he hadn't dreamed the whole thing. Why would Thorin be in the Shire? Had he really...? Had _they_ really...? He flashed to an image of Thorin eating peach pie from Bilbo's fingers and laughed in spite of himself. A dream it was, clearly; that was taking it a bit too far for even an eccentric hobbit to believe. I suppose that's why the children were teasing me, he mused; for thinking that things like that could happen to me! Shaking his head at himself, he got up and put on some sit-about clothes and went into the hallway.

A pair of impossibly familiar dwarven boots were set in the hall, just outside the door to the guestroom. It hadn't been a dream.

He staggered down the hall to the kitchen, trying to be as quiet as possible but feeling as though he were about to fall over at any moment. Tea, he decided. I need tea, and a great deal of it. Building up the fire, he set the kettle to boil on the shiny spot worn in the hob and sat himself down at the table. Gingerly picking at his memories, he was a bit shocked at himself. Still, he reasoned, it wasn't every day that the person turned up that you had been mad about for years. If a little boldness wasn't called for under those circumstances, he couldn't imagine when it might be. At the beginning whistle of the kettle, he wrapped his hand and snatched up the iron kettle, filling the teapot with the expertise of long practice and hanging it back on its hook. As always, the first cup of tea worked its magic and Bilbo felt more like a hobbit and less like a lump of mud. Well, he supposed if Thorin was going to show up out of the blue to find him, the least he could do was feed him. He had plenty of eggs... a scramble-up was far too simple, perhaps omelettes? No, he decided, a quiche. No sooner had the decision been reached than out came the cutting board again. Leftover pie crust came out of the cold-well and got crimped into a quick crust in a shallow baking dish and slid into the oven to cure. Bacon was set to fry, onions were caramelizing on the hob, and Bilbo was chopping scallions while telling them how good they looked when Thorin stumbled into the kitchen.

"Good morning," the hobbit called cheerily, receiving only a grunt in response. Turning and raising an eyebrow, he saw Thorin staring at the table as though it contained the mysteries of the cosmos in its surface. Memories of mornings with the company of dwarves surfaced; ah, he thought. Right. I'd forgotten. Not the sort to wake up cheery, our Thorin. After refilling the pot with hot water he set it to steep. Pouring a cup of strong tea, he slid it over to where the dwarf was sitting. At his soft sound of pleasure, Bilbo smiled. "Honey is in the pot at your elbow; help yourself." Another, even happier sound, and Thorin was slurping his sweetened tea. If Bilbo hadn't been told just the day before about dwarven imperviousness to heat, he was seeing it now - that water had been at a rolling boil not two minutes before. He was quite sure his own tongue would have been nothing but a giant blister, but Thorin was drinking it happily and with every evidence of joy. Bilbo's knife continued tap-tap-tapping, now dicing the bacon which had just come from the pan.

"Good morning," came a baritone rumble, finally. "Even your tea is delicious. You have a gift." Bilbo flushed and cut his eyes at the dwarf, who was sitting and watching him cook, looking a bit more awake and aware.

"You really are a flatterer," Bilbo chuckled, whisking some heavy cream into the eggs and stirring in the various ingredients. "I thought a quiche would be nice for breakfast."

Thorin chuckled. "I don't even know what that is, but I'm sure it will be wonderful. Everything you make is." The hobbit resisted the urge to groan. Everything the blasted dwarf said was in a flat, just-so voice, so that it was impossible to tell if he was flirting or just giving his opinion, but if he kept on with it, Bilbo was going to have _him_ for breakfast. He poured the mixture carefully into the crust and eyed it critically. Nodding to himself, he sprinkled shredded cheese on top of it and slid it into the oven. When he turned around, he was amazed to see Thorin on his knees in front of the stove.

"What in the... Thorin, what are you doing?" Bilbo gasped as Thorin practically stuck his head in the firebox, sleeve rolled up and one muscular arm deep inside. "Stop, you'll burn yourself! Thorin!" The dwarf pulled back and gave Bilbo a curious look before peering again into the depths of the wood stove.

"I'm fine," came the muffled response. Bilbo felt like screaming. What on earth...? "The wear pattern shows you are only using one spot on the hob, and I see why... the heat is uneven. There's a buildup of soot back here, but that's not the reason. The way the firebox is mounted you wouldn't be getting even heat no matter what. I could fix this for you, put a grid of copper alloy under it with rods going into the fire for even heat distribution." Pulling himself out and dusting his hands off, the dwarf looked in puzzlement at Bilbo, who appeared to be about to faint. After a moment passed with no response Thorin said "Of course, if you'd prefer, I can leave it like it is. Just trying to be helpful."

"Helpful?! Thorin Oakenshield!" Bilbo shouted, then sat down to give himself a chance to recover. "You need to warn me before you do something like that! I realize that you may very well be highly resistant to burns, but it's more than my nerves can take to turn around and see you sitting in the firebox like some sort of salamander!" He closed his eyes for a moment's reprieve. When he opened them, Thorin was back in his chair, though with a somewhat sullen look around the mouth and eyes that told Bilbo he was pouting. And rightly so, the hobbit thought wearily. He was trying to be helpful. I've just had two years to forget the forms dwarven helpfulness can take, that's all. Sighing, he reached out and took a sooty hand in his own. "I'm sorry. It was a very nice thing to think of, and I might consider it. You just startled me. I didn't mean to shout." Now that he was calm, he was able to process the words that he had heard. "Also... you were right. I do use that spot on the hob because it's the only one that gives proper heat."

"Mmm," Thorin said. Visibly trying to make an effort, he went on, "I suppose I should have given you warning instead of assuming you would understand. I apologize."

Bilbo laughed and kissed him on the end of the nose, making the dwarf snort with surprise and light up with a silly grin that looked very unlike him. "No apologies needed. Now let's see if that quiche is ready." The hobbit went to the oven and opened the heavy iron door. Jiggling the quiche he saw no movement in the center, so he pulled it out and set it on the tiles to cool for a moment while he fetched plates, then served it up. Thorin made his usual appreciative noises, and Bilbo had to admit this really had turned out well.

Bilbo was a bit surprised when Thorin turned to him and asked "What are the other rules for food?" At the hobbit's confused look, Thorin went on, "You said last night that those were just the basics. What are the others?"

"Ah. Good heavens, we could be here all day," Bilbo laughed, but saw that Thorin apparently took him literally. The dwarf was sitting with a serious face, and Bilbo half expected him to begin taking notes. "Just joking. Honestly, it isn't that formalized, but let's see... most of it is in context. What you get from whom is more important when considered together, but in general, the more complicated a dish is that someone fixes for you, the more you mean to them or the greater the compliment. It's all about effort. So if one person offers you sliced fruit and another offers you a loaf of fruit bread that took a whole afternoon to make, obviously the second person thinks more of you, or wants to offer you more of a compliment. Though some people are known for a particular dish and usually offer it to those they like, or the dish itself has a reputation, or... hm. You know, this is actually a bit difficult to explain to someone." He was pleasantly surprised at Thorin's response.

"I think I understand," the dwarf said slowly. "When I was working as a smith and making something for a client, of course I gave them good work. But if I was making something for my family, or a dear friend, I took extra time and made sure that it was of exceptional quality. Not that the client got shoddy work, just that close friends receive extra effort. But if someone had done me a great service, I would also take that time and extra effort even though they were not family, in appreciation for what they had done for me. As you say, context." Bilbo nodded, relieved beyond words that his vague explanation made sense.

"Exactly. That's exactly it." Thorin sat for a moment looking pensive, nodding slowly to himself.

"So, the fact that everything you have fixed for me took a lot of time and effort to cook..." Blast and confusticate the dwarf, Bilbo thought, now I feel naked. He's not allowed to be that smart, drat him (he's a king, his treacherous mind whispered, he's far from stupid). He glanced down but when he looked back up Thorin had The Look (and it would henceforth and forever be known as The Look, Bilbo thought... how on earth could anyone get that much adoration into one face? It was grossly unfair.) Thorin trailed off, not finishing his sentence, and Bilbo wasn't about to wait.

"Yes, well," he said, a stock non-answer, then promptly changed the subject before his blush got any worse. "If I am not with you, don't worry about the food rules too much. As long as you don't steal food or eat anything that isn't offered to you, you'll be fine, and nobody will expect you to react like a hobbit anyway. If people offer you food, just take it and thank them; if it seems too much or too little, ask me about it and I'll help you unpick what's being said by it. Still, whether you end up popular or not, you'll never go hungry in the Shire." Thorin got a shifty look for a moment, as though something pained him, but Bilbo sensed the time wasn't yet ripe to dig into whatever was really going on. Besides, it was so wonderful having the person he'd been pining for actually present in the house, he thought he deserved a few days of happiness.

Late that afternoon, after most of a rainy day spent in the house with Thorin, he was reconsidering his earlier decision. Rainy days in the Shire were not uncommon, and everyone understood that they were days to sit around, cook and be lazy. The episode at breakfast should have reminded him of something he learned on his travels with Thorin's company: Aule did not make his children to enjoy idleness. No sooner was breakfast done than Thorin had the entire lock-and-handle assembly off the study door before Bilbo could even finish washing the dishes. The large case he had brought in was revealed to be a tool chest, and such a tool chest as Bilbo had never seen. Trays unfolded upwards and outwards, and dozens of tiny compartments and bins were thereby revealed holding every type of metal bit and bob and fastener imaginable, along with a bewildering array of tools from hammers and a small prospecting pick to a tiny burin the size of a sewing needle... the hobbit's head spun. Within the space of an hour, the dwarf had taken the entire mechanism apart on a soft cloth he produced from somewhere, cleaned it, polished it, oiled it, straightened out the bent parts with a tiny traveling anvil and a miniature hammer, smoothed a few casting sprues left on the assembly (on the inside!, Bilbo thought, who would even see them there?) and set it back into the door, good as new. Rather better than new, actually, if the hobbit was being honest. He then went on to canvass the entire smial, at least anything not behind a closed door. Everywhere he went, he found things that could be fixed, improved, changed, moved, or (in extreme cases) replaced. Bilbo was trying to read a rather interesting book he had saved for a rainy day, leaving the dwarf to it, but the constant interruptions and steady trickle of Thorin's "have you considered..." and "would you like me to..." and "I could easily..." kept him from remembering the events of one page to the next. His head was beginning to ache. 

Even the lunch he fixed was wolfed down quickly with a faraway look and distracted thanks, then Thorin was back to tapping the flagstones in the bath chamber and making incomprehensible comments about the type of stone used for them and the way it was cut. Bilbo's ill-considered comment along the lines of "oh, I thought it was just slate" received a pitying look and ten minutes of rambling, Khuzdul-laced explanation that was more bewildering than the family trees of the Marish. After an hour or so, the dwarf emerged looking disgruntled and began a diatribe about the stonework. The upshot of it was that Thorin saw no way that the stone itself would last more than a century at most, the mortar was already loosening, and the whole floor should be replaced with something 'proper'. Insulting the floor in the bath chamber was the final straw. Bilbo drew himself up, somewhat hurt, and said stiffly "Thorin, you are here as my _guest_ , not as some handyman or village workman. This is the smial that my father built for my mother as a wedding gift, and that is the floor he chose. I happen to like it. And as for lasting more than a century, well! It will outlive me, and whoever lives here after me can do as they see fit." And with that he stomped off to make scones.

Bilbo had barely gotten the lemon zest and blueberries worked into the dough before he heard the furtive rustle of someone entering the kitchen. The creak of the chair confirmed it. He sighed, but didn't turn around. Rolling out the dough onto the countertop, he slapped it into a round (maybe a bit harder than he needed to, but cooking was good for working out frustrations) and stuck it in the cold-well to chill before baking. He pulled out his baking sheet. Looking down at the sheet, he sighed again; Thorin would probably have something to say about it as well. It was an old piece of smooth iron sheeting that his father had bought his mother when they were still house-poor from building Bag End. The edges were rolled up and smoothed, but it was a battered old thing, slightly skew-whiff from being dropped and banged around. Bilbo ran his fingers along it, fingertips finding the dent in the rim where he had dropped it as a faunt when he burned himself on it while pulling it from the oven. He had been trying to make cookies for someone, and they all ended up in the floor. He remembered crying for a solid hour over that. He chuckled softly, and heard another rustle behind him. Turning around, a very woeful looking Thorin was sitting at the table. He still felt mildly irritated, but Thorin looked so ridiculously mournful that he giggled in spite of himself. Honestly, he thought, why are dwarves so overwhelmingly dramatic?

"Oh stop it," Bilbo said mock-crossly, then giggled again at Thorin's shocked expression. "There's no need to sit there and look at me like your pet just died."

Thorin drew himself up stiffly. Aha, thought Bilbo. There's the familiar Thorin again; thank goodness. "I meant no offense. I was only seeking to be helpful. I am..." He glanced away. "I am trying to prove myself useful. I would hate for you to get tired of me and..."

Thinking of their travels together, the hobbit snorted. "Lady of Trees, Thorin, we traveled together across half of Arda! If I learned one thing during that time, it's that we're going to get on each other's nerves. If being briefly irritated with you was going to change how I felt about you, I wouldn't have made it to Rivendell! Why would you think I would be so fickle? Do you really have so little trust in me?" A moment of inspiration occurred. "I just realized... you asked me about hobbit courtship last night. Tell me about dwarven courtship." Aha, he thought in triumph as Thorin's discomfort grew to the point where he was staring at the table again. There we are, that's the problem. "A fair question, don't you think?" He asked innocently.

"I suppose," Thorin grunted. The dwarf shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "These are not things that are often spoken of with outsi... with non-dwarves," he said. "But I will tell you, because you should know. Just remember that these are not things you are supposed to be privy to when you meet other dwarves. Most of all, you must not tell what you learn to others." He gave an apologetic look to Bilbo, who was looking at him in puzzlement. "We are a secretive people. It is how we are made." Finally Bilbo nodded.

"Very well, I promise to keep your secrets. Though to be fair, I find the idea of a secret courtship to be a bit odd," he grinned. It was Thorin's turn to snort, amusement fighting with disdain.

"They are only secret outside the mountain halls; my people gossip at least as as much as yours, truth be told. The difference is that we are not so kind. Nothing is ever forgotten, grudges are nursed forever, and any forgiveness is rare and hard-won. That is why your speech last night shocked me so deeply." He gave Bilbo The Look, and the hobbit promptly took his hand, noting in passing that Thorin had taken time to wash up. So unfair that he can look like that, Bilbo thought again. So terribly unfair. Thorin took a deep breath and began. "When one dwarf has chosen another, the one who comes to petition must prove his worth. We are a demanding and exacting people, you know that well. Outsiders call us prickly and difficult, but there is little room for error under the mountain. Stone is unforgiving. But to be considered, the suitor must demonstrate his value as a dwarf." Bilbo thought this sounded horrible, but resisted the urge to say so.

"Thorin, I have never doubted your value," Bilbo assured him. A startled look was only the response he expected. "But I'm sorry, please continue. How is this 'value' to be demonstrated?" Ah, the scones, he remembered. He went to the cold-well and got the dough, cutting it into wedges and arranging them on the sheet. When Thorin stayed silent he looked up and said "Please, go on. I'm just baking. I promise, you'll be glad I did." He slid the scones into the oven and leaned against the counter near it. He knew this was going to take some close monitoring, might as well be over near the stove. After a moment Thorin continued.

"Value is demonstrated through various means, whatever is needed. There are almost always formal gifts involved. All dwarves are handy and capable of a variety of basic crafts, but as you know already we have areas of specialty. Only the very best work of our hands will do as a courting gift. To use our former companions as examples, Ori is a scribe, he might produce books or scrolls, art or paintings for his chosen one. Dwalin is a warrior, he might go do great deeds and dedicate them to his chosen one. Bofur and Bifur were miners, they would bring the riches they found in the stone, and so forth. But in addition to gifts, it is understood that a suitor has certain duties which remain immutable. They will defend the honor of their chosen mate, and bring them glory, or at the very least do nothing to shame them. They will demonstrate their ability to provide the necessities of building a home together. They will endure trials set by their chosen one, to prove their dedication and commitment; if a task is set to them, they will accomplish it, or die trying. At any time, their chosen one may turn them away, and that is the end of it. It is a fraught process." Thorin twisted his hands together nervously, brows drawn down. His face was practically hidden behind the dark curtain of his hair. "When I heard last night that I had caused you to lose reputation already, I... I worried that I hadn't even started properly and I had already failed."

Bilbo couldn't stay by the oven in the face of that much misery, scones or no. He walked across the kitchen and hugged his dwarf, who was sitting stiffly at the table, unsure how to react. "Thorin, listen to me," Bilbo said, drawing back and looking directly into his eyes, "if it comes to that, the only way you could fail in courting me is if you tell me or show me that you don't want to be with me. That's it; that's the only way." Seeing the dwarf's confusion, the hobbit continued, "Now if I have to set you tasks and accept gifts and all that, that's fine. We can work that out. I don't want to make you uncomfortable, or go against your customs. But truly, the only way to fail is to make me feel unloved and unwanted; I know those feelings quite well, though I rather wish I didn't. However since you arrived here yesterday, you've done the exact opposite of that. And besides... I'm the one being courted, yes? If I'm happy with you, any dwarf that tells you that you haven't done something correctly will have me to answer to, and they won't much like what happens next. Alright?" At Thorin's hesitant nod he patted him on the hand and went to check on the scones. They had started to rise and set as he had hoped. He pulled them out, painted the top of each of them with milk, and put them back.

Peeking back at the table, Bilbo thought Thorin seemed more relaxed. No sooner had he thought this than the dwarf glanced over at Bilbo with hooded eyes. "You always know what to say," he murmured in a bedroom voice that reached right into Bilbo and slid along his nerves to the tips of his furry toes. "That is but one of the many reasons I say you are a most precious jewel. But it is a good reason." Bilbo briefly wondered if this were a plot by the powers of the universe to drive him mad. Fifty years, I spend in the Shire, and nobody even looks at me twice, he thought while mentally fanning himself. Now, I wake up one morning and there's someone in my house who says things that make me feel like my skin is on fire and they don't even seem to notice the effect they have. The hobbit couldn't make up his mind if this was the best experience of his life or the most cruel, since Thorin seemed uncomfortable with the physical bits until they had more of a formal arrangement in place, but he knew that such comments were eventually going to make him spontaneously combust. He put on the teapot, more to maintain his own sanity than for any want of actual tea.

Thankfully the hobbit was saved by the scent of fresh scones wafting from the oven. He cracked the door and peeped in, then smiled and opened it. He reached for his potholder, but it was missing. Where...? Cursing, he looked around, but the towel was nowhere to be seen. Thorin looked over, then came and pulled the iron sheet out with his bare hands, setting it on the tiled counter. Beautifully browned scones shone up at the Bilbo, dotted with blueberries and not even slightly scorched. Still smiling, the dwarf sat back down, not even taking a scone as he went. Rather than following his instinct and shouting in concern Bilbo took a breath, held it for a moment, and then let it out. "Useful," he muttered, "right." And then more loudly, "Thank you Thorin, that was very helpful." His treacherous potholder was finally revealed to be precisely where he had left it, to the side of the cold-well and hidden behind the flour tin. The scones would have been scorched if not burnt by the time he found it there. Nodding to himself, Bilbo put two scones on a plate, rummaging in the cold-well until he came up with the small tub of lemon curd. He also fetched out the jar of clotted cream and put a large dollop on the plate, then carried it over to the table. "Thank you again," he said softly, putting the plate down, followed by a cup of tea. "Enjoy." Bilbo went back to fix a plate for himself, but kept an eye on the table. Thorin dipped his finger in the clotted cream, tasting it, and a look of delight spread across his face. The hobbit had suspected that it wasn't a dwarven condiment as there had been none in Erebor. His plate was fixed but he continued to fiddle with things on the counter so he could watch the table unobtrusively. From his conversations with Bombur he was certain dwarves didn't know of lemon curd, and he didn't want his presence to affect Thorin's reaction.

Thorin opened the jar and examined the yellow paste carefully. He sniffed at it, and brightened at the scent of lemons. Using a spoon (and thank goodness for that, Bilbo thought) he took a tiny bit and put it in his mouth. Instantly his whole face was transformed. Bilbo couldn't help but giggle at the expression of pure rapture that suffused Thorin's face. After spooning what looked to be half the jar out on his plate, he finally got around to tasting the scone. The hobbit went over and sat at his own spot, smiling fondly, watching the discovery process going on across the table. First the scone got dipped in the cream, tasted, then the curd, tasted again, then both. At that moment, Thorin looked more like his nephew Kili than the dour, brooding king that Bilbo had spent so many hours trailing behind on their journey. That someone so outwardly stoic and grim could have even a moment of such lightheartedness made Bilbo's heart go out all over again. "This is amazing," Thorin said quietly, and the hobbit wasn't certain whether he was being spoken to or not. Suddenly Thorin looked up, leaving a bit of his second scone uneaten. "You made this? All of this?" At the hobbit's slightly mystified nod, Thorin sighed and looked down, seeming dejected. "I don't deserve you." Bilbo opened his mouth cautiously, half-suspecting a trap, and thus wasn't taken completely off guard by sapphire blue eyes peering up at him through thick lashes. "Perhaps I should be a better servant," came a seductive rumble, and before the hobbit knew what was happening, thick dwarven fingers were holding out the last fragment of scone, slathered with cream and lemon curd.

"Wicked, wicked Thorin," Bilbo said, but opened his mouth. Flavor exploded across his tongue as he took the morsel. Fingers lingered for a moment on his lips. He felt positively lightheaded but still wouldn't trade this moment for the world. "You are a terrible tease," the hobbit complained. "That's going to get you in trouble, one of these days."

"My apologies," Thorin replied, though his broad grin made it clear he was anything but remorseful.

Bilbo scoffed loudly. "Now get out of this kitchen, you shameless thing! And don't come back until dinner is ready!" He made shooing motions with his hands just to see if Thorin would make an offended face, and the dwarf didn't disappoint. Just when he seemed to have his nose completely out of joint, Bilbo went on to say "You're far too handsome. It's distracting to cook around, I might hurt myself," and walked back to the counter. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the bashful grin as the dwarf vanished into the house. Two can play at that, the hobbit thought smugly.

Bilbo went and set the table for two in the dining room, determined that he would feed Thorin at least one meal a day somewhere other than the kitchen. It was pleasantly domestic, to be sure, but he was beginning to feel like a poor host. By the time the beef roast he had fixed was eaten, the last of the pies consumed, the dishes had been cleaned up and the leftovers put away, full night had fallen though a quick glance out the door showed that the rain continued. As they went to sit in the study, Thorin asked "Is there a blacksmith in Hobbiton? I would like to ask him for permission to use his forge, if so." Bilbo opened his mouth to reply and stopped, sitting with a queer expression on his face until Thorin asked "Bilbo?"

"Funny you should ask," the hobbit finally said. "There's a forge but no smith. We usually have a traveling smith come through a few times a year, but until one shows up we just store up our broken things and make do." Thorin looked thoughtful for a moment. Finally he turned a keen gaze on Bilbo, lips pursed.

"Would it," he began, then paused. "Would you say that it would aid your reputation, if you were somehow able to arrange smithing services for the village?"

Bilbo smiled widely. "I would say so, yes." He really is entirely too clever when he wants to be, the hobbit thought to himself. Entirely.

Thorin nodded as though considering something much more weighty, looking so much like Balin that Bilbo almost laughed out loud. "Would you also say that smithcraft might demonstrate an ability to provide the necessities of life in the Shire?" Bilbo pretended to weigh the idea, finally nodding.

"Oh yes," he said earnestly, "it would be very difficult to live here without access to a blacksmith. In fact, without one, it has been a bit burdensome for many people." The hobbit decided to take a risk. "I would hesitate to ask you to do something like that, knowing that you probably have less than pleasant memories of working as a smith from your time before. One might say it would prove to be... a challenge." Thorin's dark look at being reminded of unpleasant things evaporated.

"Tomorrow, show me this forge," was all he said.


	4. Chapter 4

Bilbo came out of his room the next morning to the unexpected sight of Thorin, already seated in the kitchen. Dark shadows under his eyes told the hobbit that not much rest had been had the night before. The fire was already stoked up and a pot of tea was steeping on the table, so Bilbo poured himself a cup and eased into his seat. "Good morning," he said cautiously.

"Good morning," Thorin replied in a cheerful voice. Bilbo might have been fooled if the hollows under the dwarf's eyes hadn't given the game away.

"Not much sleep, I take it?" A noncommittal humming sound was the only response. The hobbit sipped his tea and waited a moment, but it was apparent that nothing more was forthcoming. "Bad dreams?"

"I'm fine," Thorin said shortly. Looking at the table, Bilbo realized that (despite the steeping pot of freshly brewed tea), Thorin didn't even have a cup. Even worse, there had only been one cup's worth of water in the teapot. Shaking his head, the hobbit got up and filled the kettle and set it on the hob.

"Is this to do with the smithy?" he asked quietly. Thorin grumbled inaudibly but didn't meet his eyes. "Thorin, you don't have to do it if it's going to be uncomfortable. Really. I just thought..."

"Of course I will. There's no problem." Thorin said flatly, a voice all too familiar from their long-ago journey when every third sentence seemed to be a royal proclamation or fiat. Thorin Oakenshield had always been of the opinion that he could change the nature of the world just by declaring it to be so, and Bilbo realized that apparently this hadn't changed despite giving up his crown. They sat for a moment, Bilbo looking a bit sadly at Thorin and Thorin giving his best grim expression to the boards of the table. Finally the kettle began to rumble and Bilbo poured water over the tea in the pot and set it next to his dwarf. Fetching a cup and saucer, he put those down and fixed Thorin with a gimlet eye. 

"Fix yourself some tea. I am going to make breakfast. We're not done with this subject." Rummaging in the cold-well, he pulled out some left over slices of ham and set the skillet on the hob to warm with a dollop of bacon grease in it. He split some of the remaining scones, slathering them with butter and putting them in the oven, then finding the relish he'd been looking for. He almost missed Thorin's question.

"I am surprised to see you have a _hadroklil_. What dwarf made it for you?" Turning, he saw Thorin eyeing the hatch to the cold-well suspiciously. Assuming that was what he meant, Bilbo chuckled.

"My father made it." At Thorin's shocked look, he explained. "Under the floor of Bag End is a natural spring; it flows year-round, and is the water source for not only this smial, but a few of the houses down the Hill as well. When the plumbing was laid, the water is routed so that it runs around this box before it goes into the pipes. The cool water keeps things chilled so they don't spoil as quickly. You mean dwarves do the same?" Bilbo took two slices of the fried ham off the skillet and rolled them up around some of the pickle relish. He stuck both halves of a scone on the plate and set it in front of Thorin. "Here you are. Mine will be done in a minute, but please don't wait for me... eat it while it's hot."

Thorin was almost too focused on the cold-well to eat. "Oh! That is... quite ingenious, though it is not what I expected. We have similar things, but they are boxes with a particular type of crystal in them. They are never sold to non-dwarves, and I probably shouldn't even be talking about them. It is a closely guarded secret, which is why I was very surprised to see what seemed to be one in your kitchen. Your father sounds as though he was very clever." Bilbo gave a shy grin.

"He was," the hobbit said. "He built this entire smial for my mother. As I mentioned yesterday, it is difficult for everyone when two people are married when their families don't get along. My parents were such a couple. The Baggins are very traditional, very steady... not much given to anything even slightly unusual. The Tooks... are quite the opposite, I'm afraid. They like nothing so much as novelty. You met Fortinbras yesterday. He's among the most conservative and straitlaced of the Tooks, and he wandered from Tuckborough all the way to Hobbiton just to see if anything interesting was happening! When my parents began courting, tongues were wagging all over the Shire. Nobody expected that someone as predictable and steady as Bungo Baggins would spend every cent he had to turn the entire top of the Hill into an enormous and luxurious smial just to please the daughter of the Thain. But he did," Bilbo smiled fondly, lost in memories. While he was speaking, Thorin had taken a bite of food and was now sighing happily.

Swallowing, Thorin's face glowed with approval. "This was a magnificent courting gift. Your father brought honor to himself and to the family of your mother. I wish I could have met him, though I doubt he would have approved of a dwarf suitor for his son." The latter thought dimmed his face a bit. "But you keep mentioning the Thain. What is a Thain? It sounds like royalty." As Bilbo laughed the dwarf went back to clearing his plate.

"My mother would have adored you, and my father would have come 'round," Bilbo hedged. "But the Thain is hardly royalty. Royalty in the Shire, imagine that! Fossy would be completely intolerable! I suppose in one way of looking at it, the Thains might be as close to royalty as we have, though in truth it's still not very close at all. Similar to a lord, they are the military leaders in time of trouble, and it is a hereditary position. Yet and still, the Shire hasn't been to war in... well practically ever, though my several-greats-grandfather Bandobras Took the Bullroarer fought off a goblin raid in pitched battle." Thorin's expression tightened a bit at 'close to royalty' and closed up completely at 'hereditary position'. What now, Bilbo sighed. He sat down with his plate, but not before bringing another scone to Thorin.

"So all this time, you have been the scion of rulers, close cousin to the lord of these lands." Thorin's voice was low, but had a note of hopelessness the hobbit didn't like one bit. "I had no idea." He picked at the scone, not eating it and refusing to meet Bilbo's eyes.

"Oh good heavens, aren't you listening? Fortinbras is no more the 'lord of these lands' in the way that you mean than my aunt Mirabella's pet goat is. Lords have to be obeyed. Nobody obeys the Thain... not unless they think whatever he's saying is a good idea, anyway. Thains are where people go for solving problems, that's all. Thains don't keep any soldiers, set any laws, gather any taxes, or any of the rest of that nonsense." Thorin's face was a picture of confusion at hearing Bilbo describe the functions of local government as 'nonsense', and the hobbit snorted in amusement. "The main function of the Thain these days is to judge the Shire Fairs, which is what Fortinbras was talking about two days ago. Come along and you'll see how much authority he has and just how far it extends! Hopefully he won't get slapped again by an irate pig farmer." Bilbo laughed, leaning over as though about to tell a secret. "Two years ago, Iris Boffin thought her shoats were better than they were, and when old Gaffer Proudfoot took the prize, she let Fortinbras know how displeased she was. Knocked him right down in the mud, too." Thorin didn't say anything, but the hobbit could tell that he felt better about the whole thing by the speed with which the second scone suddenly disappeared.

"Now," Bilbo said sweetly. "Let's discuss the forge, and why it kept you up all night." He continued smiling at the glare he received, merely raising an eyebrow in response.

=

After second breakfast, Thorin and Bilbo walked down the Hill towards the market, both of them with rather tight-lipped expressions. The day wasn't rainy but clouds were still scudding along overhead, and a stiff breeze was blowing. As Bilbo had feared, Thorin had spent the entire night reliving memories of when he was working as a smith, struggling to make enough money to keep his sister and nephews fed and housed. The hobbit cursed himself for ever mentioning it, let alone framing it as a task he was setting his suitor, but it seemed that by so doing it moved beyond his control. Thorin was determined to do it if it killed him, so here they were. When they got to the stable, Bilbo said "I'll just pop in and get the key from Piggy." Thorin grunted and went over to look at the outside of the forge. It was situated directly across the lane from the stables; sensible considering that any pony or horse which needed shoeing would be close by. A ragged metal roof was hung over the shoeing yard, a sheet of what appeared to be rusty iron balanced on two stripped poles which looked rickety enough to come down at any moment. The yard itself was packed earth but at the moment it was still mucky from the rain. A splintery wooden bench was provided for those waiting for their horses to be shoed, and midway through the yard was a smooth, rounded rock for the smith to sit on while working, sunk deep in the dirt. The building itself looked a bit ramshackle, banged together out of cheap lumber and set a good distance from all neighbors, due no doubt to the high risk of fires attendant on open flames, forges and hot iron. By the time Bilbo appeared with the key, Thorin's expression was as grim and closed as one of the statues that guarded the gates of Erebor. When Bilbo reappeared he said "He's thrilled, and says to tell you he'll let you use it for free for two weeks if you shoe two of his ponies." A snort was the only response.

The hobbit went and opened the door; even the padlock got a grunt of disdain from Thorin. The dwarf went in and poked through the building, scuffing his foot on the packed earth floor with a scowl. Set on a lopsided block of wood was a scarred, rusty anvil; an oddly elegant forge made of fitted stones formed a part of one wall next to a shop window covered by shutters. On the other side of the small workshop sat a dust-covered workbench with boxes of scrap under it and along the walls. A decrepit set of bellows hung on a hook, along with assorted tongs and tools that the hobbit found unfamiliar. Bilbo wasn't sure what a proper blacksmith's workshop was supposed to look like, but even he realized that this was probably rather down-market by dwarven standards. A series of displeased sounding noises came from the dwarf as he made his way through the space. The hobbit still had to admit that he was impressed; for all his obvious displeasure, Thorin's inventory was thorough and painstaking. He was quite certain that if he asked the dwarf anything at all about the forge, by the time this process was complete he would get a comprehensive answer. Thorin examined the forge closely and grunted, though for the first time his reaction didn't sound disgusted. Finally he took off his coat and hung it up safely on a peg then dragged one of the boxes out from beneath the workbench. At first he started to reach inside, then shrugged and dumped it out in the floor with a loud crash and clatter. Old horseshoes, scraps and odd-shaped bits of metal covered in filth were strewn across the dirt floor and the dwarf started picking through them, sorting them according to some system that Bilbo couldn't figure out. Despite being mystifying, he had to admit it was fascinating to watch. Thorin would pick up a piece of scrap, glare at it, and unerringly drop it in one of three piles. Then another, then another. Bilbo could see no rhyme nor reason to why a piece went in a particular pile, but he was sure Thorin had a method. Only once was the cycle broken. The dwarf picked up what looked to be most of an old pot, but as soon as he touched it, he stopped. Rubbing it, he held it up to what light there was, then tasted it (better him than me, Bilbo thought; that nasty thing would never get near my lips!) The first smile of several hours appeared and Thorin set it carefully on the bench before resuming the sort. When the last of the scrap on the floor had been sorted, Bilbo quickly asked "So what do you think? Is it usable?" Anything to avoid waiting for another whole box to be sorted, he thought, then chided himself for being uncharitable.

Thorin nodded, still scowling. "I've worked in worse smithies." Bilbo didn't think he was supposed to hear the muttered "but not many". In all honesty he couldn't say he was surprised by that. Even so he was a bit taken aback by the dwarf's next question. "How long has this village been here?"

"Since the very first days of the Shire," Bilbo responded. "So one thousand, three hundred and eighty years, give or take. Why do you ask?" Thorin was back at the forge, rummaging around in the bed of cinders inside and looking at how the trough was constructed.

"Dwarves built this forge, though not for their own use. I have no doubt that it was here long before this building, or anything else I've seen in the village. I merely wondered if my people had owed some debt to your kin, repaid with such work. It is strange... This forge is a Broadbeam design, but it has been long since the children of Gabilgathol lived on this side of the Misty Mountains." Whatever any of that's supposed to mean, Bilbo thought sourly. Despite his confusion, he couldn't help but admire how Thorin looked in his shirtsleeves. In nothing but a shirt it was clearly evident that he was far too thin, Bilbo realized, but his shoulders were as broad as the hobbit remembered from their journey and the strength in those arms and hands left him a bit breathless. Sighing, he dragged his attention back to the question at hand.

"I have no idea; this forge has been here as long as anyone can remember. I have heard stories that the forge and a few other things were built by order of the Kings in the old days, before Fornost fell. Legends say that there were dwarf halls in the Weather Hills, east of Bree... If there were agreements between those dwarves and the kings of Arthedain in Fornost, it may be that he sent them to build us a forge to support his soldiers or the like, but..." Bilbo shrugged helplessly.

Thorin chuckled. "It doesn't matter, I was merely curious. To encounter a forge like this in such a building is like finding a diamond in a henhouse. But yes, Bilbo, to answer your question, it is quite usable. I will just need to make some repairs." Thorin walked over the grimy workbench and picked up the pot he had set aside. "There are some odd things here, to be sure. Most of this scrap is the worst sort of _prukh_ , but this piece is good steel... good for men, anyway. Old. It's a pauldron from a set of armor made for men, it sits like so." The dwarf held the item up to his shoulder, and with the new perspective Bilbo was able to see that it did look like more like a shoulder and less like a broken pot. "I am sure there is a story to how it came to be here, but we will never know it. Who knows what else we may find in these boxes?" He looked down at his grimy hands, hands Bilbo swore would be washed before they touched anything in his smial, thank you very much. "But first I must find some coal for this fine forge, and get it primed and lit. Repairs should be made on the building, this anvil will need..." Bilbo almost missed the tiny shudder, "some work. Tell me, do dwarves from the Blue Mountains sell at your markets?" He moved over and began transferring the piles of sorted scrap to the top of the workbench.

"Sometimes. Not often," the hobbit replied. Thorin gave another grunt and wandered out into the yard. He bent down to examine the rock and the resultant flood of truly foul-sounding Khuzdul had Bilbo running outside. "What? What is it?" The hobbit had a feeling he was lucky that he didn't understand the language of the dwarves, because based on tone and body language he was fairly certain he didn't want to know. Thorin didn't reply, just went inside and got an iron rod and came back to the yard. He began digging out the stone, which was rapidly revealed to be a short, fat cylinder buried in the dirt. It was buried askew, and only one edge had been left jutting up to act as a seat. Prying the large stone out of the clinging mud, Thorin wiped it down with rags he had found inside and then rolled it into the smithy. Bilbo was so confused he was once again forced to wonder if he was dreaming. When he peeked through the open door into the building, he saw a cursing Thorin wielding a terrifying looking pair of tongs, pulling out the bent bolts holding the anvil to the ragged chunk of wood. The dwarf stopped cursing long enough to lift the anvil overhead while saying what appeared to be a short prayer or phrase in Khuzdul, then set the anvil reverently onto the pillar. Strangely enough, there was an indentation carved in the top that accommodated the feet of the anvil, holding it steady. Bilbo belatedly realized that this was probably something carved to go with the forge in the first place (likely by the same dwarves, given Thorin's reaction). Still, standing and looking at the enormous trench that was now in the middle of the shoeing yard, Bilbo wasn't so sure this had been a good idea after all.

Thorin hefted the log that had been the base for the anvil. Turning and seeing Bilbo standing in the doorway, Thorin grimaced and said "Move." When Bilbo stepped out of the way, the block of wood flew past him and into the yard, practically into the lane. More muttering in Khuzdul followed. Bilbo turned and saw the heavyset form of Piggy standing in the door of the stable, mouth agape. Wonderful, the hobbit thought miserably. Word of this should be all over the four Farthings by tomorrow. I'm sure the next market day will be interesting, to say the least. This is my fault, I suppose, he ruminated, though that didn't help much. Clearly Thorin was trying to improve the forge, which was good, but did he have to be so... un-hobbitish about it? I can't help here, Bilbo realized. I'm just going to be in the way. He stuck his head cautiously back through the door, hoping nothing else was about to fly out. "I'm going to head back to Bag End," he said tentatively, "and let you get on with things here. Come back when you're done." He slipped the key into Thorin's hand. "Here's the key and the lock is still hung 'round the hasp, remember to lock up." The dwarf's distracted nod was interrupted by a kiss to his cheek, and he looked over and seemed to focus on Bilbo for the first time in a while, grinning and ducking his head.

"I will," he said solemnly. "I just..." He looked around, and his face darkened again.

"I know," the hobbit said, and the look he gave Thorin made the dwarf smile in spite of himself. Patting him on the shoulder, Bilbo headed back out with a cheery wave to Piggy (still slack-jawed in his doorway) and headed back up the Hill. No sooner had he reached the Gamgee house than the door popped open, revealing a smiling Hamfast. The older hobbit wasn't dressed to go out, but he was beaming all the same.

"Mister Bilbo, sir, good day to you! I saw you and your dwarf go by a bit ago, all well there?" Bilbo was a bit taken aback by the 'your dwarf' bit of that sentence before telling himself it was just Ham being Ham.

"Yes indeed, Ham, he's decided to help out by working the smithy for us for a bit since it's been so long. Stop by Bag End if you'd like to meet him, I'd be more than happy to introduce you." And what the two of you will make of each other is anyone's guess, Bilbo reflected, but better to have my friends telling the stories than wait to see what happens. "How did your garden do in the rain? I haven't even seen to mine yet, I hope all is well. That was quite a wind." Hamfast slapped a hand to his forehead.

"Gardens, sir! Right! The reason I came to meet you today, Mister Bilbo, I saw that Lobelia woman standing in your garden just a bit ago! Had a good look around, she did. Likely checking out the competition for the Fair, but I wanted to let you know." Bilbo's heart sank. Wretched woman... of course she'd come sniffing around.

"Thank you Ham," he replied. From the expression on the farmer's broad, honest face, clearly Ham had the same opinion of this that he did. Thank goodness for nosy neighbors! "I'll have a look as soon as I go up to see if anything's amiss."

"Afore you go, sir," Hamfast grinned, "Rhoda made you a little something to say thank you for the pasties." He handed over a fresh, steaming loaf of peach bread. Bilbo was amazed he hadn't smelled it when the door opened; Rhoda's famous peach bread was one of the coveted gifts of the Shire. When you received it, you knew you were considered a true friend of the Gamgee family. Bilbo had received numerous loaves over the years, but each time it was special. He took it reverently, smiling at Ham.

"You and Rhoda are amazing. I truly don't deserve neighbors and friends like you. Thank you so much, and thank Rhoda for me as well! I assure you this will be put to good use," he said and Ham laughed delightedly.

"I never doubted it! Good to hear about the smithy, too, I've a few tools that need mending. Now go see if that awful woman made a mess, and if you need me, call and I'll be right over. The very thought of snooping through someone else's garden! What is the Shire coming to, I'd like to know," Ham said, shaking his head sadly as he ducked back inside. Bilbo privately thought it was more the Bracegirdles of Hardbottle than the Shire in general that were going the wrong way, but he nodded mournfully and went along home, stepping a bit higher now that there was peach bread in the offing. Even better, Thorin loved peaches. On an initial inspection, all seemed well in the garden, though there were muddy footprints everywhere, sure enough. Bilbo checked his roses carefully, but nothing seemed disturbed; he also examined his tomatoes, though he figured they were less at risk. Not much chance of Lobelia actually growing something edible, that would be entirely out of character. Any damage to them would be purely out of malice.

Hours passed and Bilbo picked at some food for lunch, then fixed tea, but no Thorin. He barely resisted cutting into the peach bread; he wanted to save that as a treat for his hard-working dwarf, and he also knew himself well enough to know that once cut, his resistance to eating the whole thing would be dangerously low. As time went by and the light faded, Bilbo began to worry. Although he knew that nothing could possibly happen to Thorin in Hobbiton, he kept looking out the window, pursing his lips, and worries chased themselves around and around in his mind. Finally he had reached his breaking point. It was almost time for dinner and still no Thorin. Bilbo was almost to the door, about to go down the Hill and find out what was going on when he finally heard a knock. A very dirty, very grumpy Thorin was waiting there, looking as though he had crawled through the entire forge on his belly. Staring at the grimy dwarf, Bilbo stepped aside; without a word, Thorin went down the hall to the bath chamber and shut the door firmly. Looking at the trail of dirt and filth leading down the hall, Bilbo sighed and went and got the broom. His treacherous mind briefly threw up an image of Thorin in the bath, taking off his mucky clothes and washing himself but Bilbo shook his head firmly. There were other things to think of, like dinner, and... and... Green Lady of the Fields... no! Giving himself a stern talking-to, he went into the kitchen to fix dinner.

By the time Thorin emerged, hair still damp and still in shirt sleeves (though clean ones), Bilbo had thrown a beef stew together and was waiting for it to simmer. The hobbit only had to ask "Did you get it sorted?" for Thorin to give him a long list of all the things he had changed, moved or repaired during the course of the day. As he listened, Bilbo took a moment to once again marvel at how quickly life could change. A week ago, he had made his peace with the idea that he would never see Thorin again. Now, Thorin was sitting in his kitchen in the most domestic scene imaginable, looking like he'd been there for years. Bilbo had promised himself since this whirlwind began that he wasn't going to think about the future, he was going to take each moment of this as it came... but he was suddenly, achingly certain he wanted Thorin sitting there like that years from now as well. Getting a bit ahead of ourselves, are we, he asked himself, then sighed and went to check on the stew. As he ladled up two bowls and sliced the peach bread, he thought back on his resolution of the night before to serve dinner somewhere other than the kitchen. Perhaps tomorrow, he sighed, then set out the food.

Thorin ate his soup like he was starving. He looked up and said "How do you do this?" When Bilbo looked puzzled, he went on "Even Bombur cannot cook like this. Everything you fix is so flavorful. I have never eaten so well, not since the..." his eyes grew darker, "... the dragon came."

Bilbo was flattered but wasn't quite sure how to respond. "Here in the Shire, just about everyone cooks, Thorin," he finally said. "When everyone cooks, you soon learn to cook well if you want folk to eat your food. I don't know what else to say." The dwarf smiled at him and then took a slice of the peach bread and bit into it. He froze, a strange look coming over his face. "Is it alright?" Bilbo asked, picking up a slice and nibbling it. It was heavenly, just like he remembered. Moist and full of peach flavor, the sweet crumb wrapped around tender morsels of peach that dissolved on the tongue. Quickly eating the tasty treat, he smiled over at Thorin, who was eating his slice of bread with an air of grim determination. How odd, Bilbo thought; perhaps he doesn't like it. "Thorin, if you don't like the bread, don't eat it. I don't ever want you to force yourself to..." The dwarf flung himself away from the table and barely made it outside before the sound of retching could be heard. Bilbo hurried outside to find Thorin on his knees in the garden, his dinner now splattered in the back of a flowerbed. The dwarf looked absolutely miserable, chalky complected and shaking, and Bilbo held back his hair for him as the final heaves racked his body. 

"Thorin! I'm so sorry! I don't... I hope it wasn't anything in the meal, I didn't cook..." Bilbo was speechless. Thorin shook his head grimly.

"It was not your food." Giving a grim and particularly humorless chuckle, Thorin strode back inside the smial, leaving Bilbo standing for a moment staring at the mess. It was all so sudden. Was this why he was so thin? Was he ill? He'd been eating like a proper hobbit since he arrived, and nothing like this had happened! Bilbo went back into the house only to discover that Thorin had shut himself up in his room. He sighed and went to the pump to get fresh water. After moistening a cloth he knocked on the guestroom door. "I am fine," came Thorin's voice. "Just let me rest. I apologize for causing you worry."

"Thorin, please, may I come in? Just for a moment?" Bilbo refused to barge into a guest's room, but he also refused to allow someone to suffer unnecessarily, something Thorin seemed fond of doing.

"If you must." He was through the door like a shot despite the extremely half-hearted agreement. Thorin was sitting on a bench Bilbo had put in the guest bedroom and scowling at the wall, not lying down as Bilbo would expect.

"I brought you a cool cloth for your forehead," Bilbo said, allowing his surprise to show, "it often helps me if I'm feeling poorly." Thorin grunted and nodded once, which could mean anything. Bilbo stepped over to him and put a hand on his shoulder; Thorin's shoulder was so tense it was like resting his hand on a block of wood. "Thorin..." The dwarf opened his mouth furiously, then closed it again and looked down, clearly fighting for control. Bilbo had never seen him look so desolate... well, he thought sadly, not since that awful day in the throne room when he said goodbye. He hated to do this, but now he had to know. "What's going on? Did you overwork yourself, or... Thorin. Are you... are you ill? Is that what this is about?"

Thorin closed his eyes and shook his head. "No," he said. "Not exactly. I don't wan... I can't talk about it." Pleading blue eyes found the hobbit's hazel ones. "I can't. Not right now. Please." And there was so much history and emotion wrapped up in that final word that Bilbo thought he might just explode. He wanted to argue with the dwarf, but he strongly suspected that pushing any further would result in unpleasantness. The Thorin he had traveled with would have been shouting already. This time, though, he knew a great deal about Thorin that he didn't know when they were traveling together, and luckily knew himself better as well. The hobbit stepped over to the bench and sank down onto it next to him. He kissed the dwarf's forehead like Belladonna had done for him when he was ill and said quietly "Alright. In your own time then. I'm here for you if you want to talk. If you want me to go, just tell me so."

After a long moment of silence he heard Thorin whisper "Don't go." 

He put his hand on the dwarf's back and said in a low voice "I won't." And there they stayed for an hour, until Bilbo went to bed.


	5. Chapter 5

The next day dawned bright, sunny and warm. Bilbo woke with a groan, unsure what he would find when he left his room. He half-worried that Thorin would be properly sick after the episode during dinner. Instead, he seemed fine; the dwarf wolfed down the soft scrambled eggs the hobbit had made and set off as soon as he had finished eating to continue fixing up the forge. His color was normal and he showed no sign of digestive issues, so Bilbo was forced to shrug and assume that it was a passing upset of the humors. That idea didn't sit well, and he went out into the garden troubled. As he weeded and pruned, watered and tended, he thought over the situation. Thorin had been practically skeletal when he showed up. His face had possessed an unhealthy pallor, and his skin was practically grey. Since his arrival, though, he looked like a different dwarf. His color was back to normal and his appetite was quite hearty. The Thorin that Bilbo was familiar with from their journey together had seemed to view food as fuel and eating as a necessary evil. Since staying with Bilbo, though, the dwarf was eating like a hobbit and even with only the past few days of meals he looked healthier and he seemed to be filling back out again. Despite eating and exclaiming over the food last night, Bilbo noticed that Thorin had reacted poorly to the bread. He would normally believe that there was a delicate digestion at play, since not everyone could eat everything - Bilbo was familiar with those whose stomachs couldn't handle this or that, though it was uncommon in the Shire. But that explanation made no sense, because he was certain Rhoda had put nothing in the peach bread that Bilbo hadn't used in cooking his peach pies, and Thorin had raved about those (to the point of stealing bites of them off someone else's plate!) Yet he claimed he wasn't ill. None of it held together. Face a puzzled frown, he made his way through his tasks methodically and went back into his smial to get dressed. Perhaps it was time to check in at the smithy.

Bilbo got dressed and went down the Hill. When he got to the smithy he stopped, absolutely gobsmacked at the transformation. It looked like a different place. Thorin was standing in the yard, directing two hobbits from the Michel Delving quarry in the distribution of a load of fresh white gravel across the yard. He greeted Bilbo with a distracted nod and self-conscious half-smile, but clearly he wasn't in a stopping place with the work. There was no sign of the ragged chunk of wood, nor of the giant hole that the stone column had left in the dirt; instead, clean white rocks were spread neatly from the clapboard side of the building to the road. A fresh coat of whitewash had been applied to the walls. The ragged old iron sheeting was gone, and the poles had been dismantled and set behind the building. Without it, the smithy looked fresher somehow, and when he went inside he could hardly believe his eyes. All the tools were clean and orderly. The anvil was rust-free and practically shimmered on its stone base. The heat of the forge was a strong presence inside the smithy even with the window shutters open, but the few remaining boxes had been stacked neatly to one side with sacks of coal next to them. The workbench was scoured of all filth and contained three newly-constructed bins for scrap (clearly made from the missing boxes) which held an assortment of useful metal pieces. The floor was covered in a finer form of the same white gravel from outside, which made the whole forge look clean and bright. There was not a trace of dirt or cobweb present in the building or on the outside walls.

When Bilbo emerged from the smithy, the hobbits were finishing up but he saw Piggy watching from the door again. He walked over, hoping he wasn't about to get an angry complaint. "Good morning, Piggy."

"Mister Bilbo, good morning," the stocky stablemaster said. "Come to check on the progress, aye?"

"Yes," he said, "it's hardly recognizable as the same place. Quite a change for a single day, isn't it?" Piggy looked admiringly at the work across the street. The heavyset hobbit was leaning on the doorframe, thumbs stuck behind his braces but his shrewd eyes seemed to miss nothing.

"Mister Bilbo, I've never seen anything like it, and that's a fact. I thought he were mad when he come out slingin' that log around, but we have a proper forge for the first time in, well, since I've been a grown hobbit. And who'd have thought the stone in the yard was what become of the old forge-stone? I tell you now, if I had two workers like that Thorin feller, I could build a new town. Ee, when he comes to work, he sets to it, don't he?" Bilbo grinned over at him, surprised and pleased at Piggy's approval.

"That he does, that he does," Bilbo chuckled. "All the dwarves I ever met liked to work, but Thorin's in a class by himself." Piggy gave him a knowing glance.

"Oh aye? Not surprised you'd think so," he said with a guffaw, "but speakin' of work, I'm back to mine. Good to see you... and Mister Bilbo? Feed that dwarf up! He's lookin' a bit peaked." With that the other hobbit was gone, leaving Bilbo standing aghast in the middle of the street. Did _everyone_ in Hobbiton already assume that he was (now he was blushing) with Thorin? Bilbo was half tempted to run inside the stable and inform the nosy stablemaster that he was well aware of how thin Thorin was at the moment, but after he considered how that would sound he simply sighed loudly, then went back across the street. Probably quite enough gossip in that vein already. The quarry workers had gone, and Thorin was smoothing the last patches of gravel down.

"Thorin, this looks wonderful! You've done an amazing job," Bilbo said. Instead of the smile he'd expect from a hobbit, the dwarf scowled and looked around, clearly dissatisfied.

"Kind of you to say," he grumbled. "It's hardly what it ought to be." Bilbo felt a rush of affection that almost knocked him down.

"Take the compliment, you ridiculous dwarf," he giggled, and Thorin snorted in surprise then gave him a look which made his toes tingle. The moment was interrupted by a brassy, nasal voice from behind Bilbo.

"Cousin Bilbo, what a surprise." Thorin's face changed immediately to the bored scowl Bilbo would always think of as 'the king Thorin face'. The hobbit knew that voice all too well, and his eyes shut of their own accord for a brief prayer of strength before he turned.

"Lobelia, good morning, lovely to see you," he said.

"Mm," the hobbit behind him said noncommittally. Curly dark brown hair was carefully arranged beneath an enormous and somewhat grotesque bright orange hat, half-covered in a confection of flowers. A matching dress in orange bombazine was a mass of tucks and flounces, and tiny orange flowers decorated the dark hair on her feet. While she was comely enough, the girlish look wasn't terribly appropriate in someone Bilbo's age (though he felt a bit catty for thinking so), but any lingering appeal was ruined by her poisonously sour expression and narrowed dark eyes. "What's all this, then, Bilbo? Going into the smithy business with... who are you?" She put on a clearly affected expression of surprise at seeing a dwarf, as though she hadn't been aware he was there all along. Her piercing gaze swept Thorin up and down, as though she thought him suspicious. Typical, Bilbo groaned to himself. To Lobelia, everyone was suspicious.

"Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, may I introduce to you Thorin, son of Thrain? He was the... leader of my recent travel party, and has come to stay with me for a time. Thorin, Lobelia is the wife of my cousin Otho Sackville-Baggins." Thorin gave the impression of bowing without moving, something Bilbo had never imagined possible.

"At your service," the dwarf said in a voice that could have frozen a pond.

"Mm," was the response. Bilbo rolled his eyes at the rudeness of it all, but Thorin seemed to expect no less. Lobelia had already turned and stepped into the smithy itself and was examining everything with a gimlet eye. "Fixing the old place up? Well done. Glad someone cares about the deplorable state of the businesses in Hobbiton, though of course it would take a foreigner to make it happen. Certainly the layabouts we have in these parts would never put themselves out so." She flounced back to where Bilbo was standing. "Perhaps I'll bring my garden shears by for sharpening. Hard work deserves custom."

Bilbo's desire to roll his eyes was so intense it was close to causing him physical pain, but he kept a pleasant face on. "You're too kind. So... what brings you into town, Lobelia?"

"Registering for the Fair, of course! Such a ridiculous question. I assume you're planning on entering something from your garden?" Her nonchalant tone was belied by her harsh black eyes, as intent as a hawk seeing a rabbit in the field.

"Well, I'm certain I'll submit something," he said airily, waving one hand just to see the brief spasm of rage cross her face. "I haven't decided if I want to compete in flowers or not." At the mention of 'flowers' her nose twitched.

"Not roses, surely! The soil at Bag End is completely wrong for them. I realized that when I decided not to buy it." The enormity of this lie (pair of lies!) left Bilbo momentarily speechless, and Thorin's face could have started a fire. "But you and that Gamgee fellow seem to have a knack for vegetables, so who knows? Maybe cucumbers, squash, that sort of thing. Up to you, of course." And with that, she turned and swept off without even a word of goodbye. Bilbo let out a long, almost-silent hiss of relief; that was less painful than it could have been by far, though Thorin looked like he was ready to go to war.

"I apologize," came the deep rumble from across the forge, "I did not believe you when you said that the Shire contained much worse than your cousin the Thain. I see in that, as in so many other things, I was unaware of how bad things could be." Thorin's face was a solemn mask, with no trace of humor. Only a flick of the eyebrows gave him away.

"I tried to warn you," Bilbo sighed. "I would say she wasn't even the worst, but at the moment I'm hard pressed to think of who I might name or what story I'd tell to support that conclusion. Ask me a few days from now." Thorin's soft chuckle could barely be heard over the hissing of the flames in the forge. "I meant what I said, though... it looks amazing in here, you've made such a difference in just a few days it hardly looks like the same place."

"It's not..." Thorin caught himself at Bilbo's raised eyebrow. "Thank you. When I realized there was a proper anvilstone I knew I needed to try to make a proper forge to hold it. These are tools of work but they also have religious significance to we dwarves. Remember, Mahal is not just our Lord, he is a Maker; the forge is not just a workplace, but also his shrine. None of the children of Mahal would have been able to endure..." He caught himself visibly. "Let's merely say that setting the anvilstone out in the yard as a seat was not at all respectful and then speak of something else."

"Oh," Bilbo said pensively. "I'm sure whoever did it didn't know, but... for what it's worth, I'm sorry for any disrespect." Cornflower blue eyes met his for a moment, and then dropped.

"There is no need to apologize; you were hardly responsible for it. I am sure this was never consecrated, it was work done for outsiders; I was merely shocked to see it. Besides, I was never properly religious anyway, beyond knowing the ceremonies of... kingship," Bilbo heard the brief catch and hesitation, heart breaking again all over for Thorin, "so it would be hypocritical of me to react too strongly. Luckily Balin wasn't here to see it, or even worse, Ori." Thorin grinned widely, expecting Bilbo to understand the joke, but the hobbit was flummoxed.

"Ori?" Bilbo wandered over and sat on the stool at the workbench. "Quiet Ori, the one who was always drawing and writing? He was particularly religious?" Thorin laughed loudly.

"Ori was stunningly devout. I am shocked you did you not know this. Bilbo, he is a scribe; they are the priests of our people. He would have been livid. Still would be, most likely, because a proper anvil that isn't in a stone building is... our word means 'naked', but to protect Shire sensibilities let's say 'misplaced' instead." Thorin's face was earnest, willing Bilbo to understand, but the hobbit's mind kept wandering to the word 'naked' and inappropriate thoughts around that particular subject. Good heavens, he scolded himself, you're worse than a tween! "The pillar, the anvil and the hammer are the three tools of the Smith, and with them He made the world." Thorin visibly caught himself, then chuckled. "I will have to get you named _Khuzdbaha_ , Dwarf-friend, at this rate, since I seem to always catch myself telling you all the secrets of our race. In truth I should have given you the title when you came before me in Erebor, you have done so much..." Sadness filled his eyes for a moment.

"Let's... there's no point in speaking of that now," Bilbo said. "Are you ready to open the forge tomorrow during the market day? I'm sure word has gotten out so it will be busy. I have to do the shopping but I can come by in the afternoon to see how you are getting on." Thorin looked around and nodded, obviously biting back all the observations he wanted to make about how he should have done more. The hobbit knew that look, he'd seen it for a year as they went across half of Arda with Thorin constantly pushing them (and even more himself) for more, more, more... Was that why he had stepped down? Or been forced out? "Are you ready to return to the house? Or shall I wait?"

"I will come, just let me bank the forge. There is nothing else to do here until the clients arrive. Tomorrow will be a long day, but it will be good to work again." 'Work again', Bilbo snorted, as though the dwarf hadn't been working himself to the bone for days since he got here! Ridiculous creature. He almost missed Thorin's question.

"What is this Fair that everyone is talking about? That is the festival where you mentioned the Thain getting knocked into the mud, correct?" Bilbo guffawed.

"Yes, but for the Green Lady's sake don't mention that to Fos... Fortinbras! He's still furious about it, though he learned a healthy respect for the temper of pig farmers in general and Iris in particular that day. The Fair is... well, where to start? It's one part party, one part harvest festival and all parts a good time. There is a lot of food and drink, as you might imagine, and everyone eats until they're half dead, but there's also competitions on best flowers, best produce, best baked goods, best animals... oh, the list goes on and on. Most of them are in good fun and everyone of course knows each other, though some hobbits," Bilbo cast a wary eye at the door, "seem to take the whole thing far too seriously in my opinion."

"Hmm," Thorin rumbled, poking ash over the forge fire and setting it to last the night, "are there prizes? Or is the prize merely the honor of winning?"

"There are ribbons, and occasionally one of the businesses in town will sponsor a particular contest for a prize. Goatfoot's Brewery always gives a keg of fine ale to the winner of the the baked goods, and most years Brightleaf and Bragg offer a custom-made coat as the award for the general garden prize, though I haven't heard if they'll do it again this year. It's just a good time. My parents always loved the fair," the hobbit said sadly. "I remember going with them as a faunt, and seeing all the animals and the flowers, and following the judges 'round the village." A sudden pang of loss ached in his chest. Every year it was the same, though it had faded with time. Thorin was watching him closely, so Bilbo threw off the melancholy. "Despite what I told Lobelia, I'm entering my tomatoes _and_ my roses. 'The soil is completely wrong for roses' my furry feet!" Thorin's laugh was so loud Piggy stuck his head out the door to see what all the fuss was about.

=

After leaving the forge, they made their way back to Bag End, stopping only at Underhill Mercantile to register for the Fair. Dinner was as calm as it had been every night (except the previous one, which Thorin steadfastly refused to discuss). After dinner, the conversation was sparse but the silence was companionable, and Thorin's soft "good night" made Bilbo's palms itch to touch the dwarf. It drove the hobbit mad to be so close to the one he wanted, and yet feel so far away. The irony was breathtaking; for two years, he had dreamed of having Thorin nearby (and if he were being honest, some of those dreams were scandalous indeed). Now that the dwarf of his late-night imaginings actually was present, he still couldn't touch because of... what, exactly? He was tempted to go knock on Thorin's door and ask for an explanation of the rules of this courtship process, but even a second's reflection told him that barging into the bedroom of the person one was courting was most likely not on the approved behaviors list. That would be considered disgraceful even in Frogmorton, let alone Hobbiton, and the dwarves seemed to be a great deal more straitlaced in such matters even than the hobbit gentry. He went to sleep dissatisfied and grumbly.

No sooner had Bilbo staggered to the kitchen in the morning's first light than a sharp rapping came at the door. Who on earth could that be, he wondered. The birds were barely awake, and the sun was barely a sliver on the horizon! When he opened the door, a scruffy faunt was looking at him, a bag clutched in one tiny fist. "Good morning!" Bilbo said cheerily, though he felt anything but. "It's awfully early to come calling, young sir. May I help you?"

The faunt nodded, coal-black curls bobbing and bright black eyes grinning up at Bilbo. "Good mornin', sir, sorry to be rappin' but Missus SB said you'd be awake. Sent these for the smith to sharpen," he said, brandishing the bag as though it were some great treasure. Who in the world... Missus SB...? Lobelia, Bilbo cursed. Hateful creature! He kept a scowl off his face through sheer force of will. There was no need to take it out on the lad.

"I am afraid the good Missus has misled you, my fine young hobbit," Bilbo said, smiling down at the boy. "Those should be taken to the smith when he's at the forge, not here. You'll have to find him there when he opens the forge. I'll fetch you a biscuit though, so you don't go off empty handed." The faunt's face fell almost comically, but he nodded and slouched over to wait. Bilbo closed the door and rested his forehead against it for a moment. At this rate he was going to have to designate a spot on the door specifically for head-resting, he thought. Not a day seemed to pass that his nerves didn't get some new assault.

"Who was that?" Thorin asked as he came out into the hall. He was still in his shirtsleeves and his hair was damp around his face where he had washed it. Bilbo sighed.

"Lobelia sent some child with her wretched shears in a bag; she's apparently too impatient to wait for you to open the forge, and wants to make sure she's first... or something, who knows what that horrid woman thinks. I still owe the boy a biscuit, though," the hobbit said, passing through the kitchen and into the pantry. He emerged carrying a small stack of oatmeal raisin biscuits and wrapped it up in a scrap of paper. He gave a puzzled look at Thorin, who was staring at him. "What? The child needs to eat!" He swept back out into the hall with Thorin's quiet chuckle ringing in his ears. When he came back, he sank into his chair, glancing gratefully at the steaming cup of tea that had appeared in the interim. "My hero," he said, cupping the tea and taking a grateful sip. "Thorin," he said softly, "don't let that boy corner you on the road. If Lobelia thinks she can have things delivered here or anywhere other than the forge, we'll never be shut of her."

"One of Dain's generals, Bragni, beat a man to death in a human city. The man had shortchanged her by three coppers. One of Dain's other generals is married to a dwarf named Vur, daughter of Varthu. Vur once went without food or sleep for four days; she spent the entire time beating on the door of someone who had offended her. After four days of nonstop pounding, the door shattered and she discovered the dwarf she thought was inside was in fact somewhere else. She turned without a word and left." Thorin sighed. "It seems to me that your cousin missed her true calling. She would have fit in perfectly in Dain's court. It's a shame she is here instead." Bilbo guffawed, not least because this was one of the few times he had ever heard Thorin tell a proper joke. The smile that accompanied the joke was like a ray of sunshine itself and Bilbo spoke before he realized his mouth was opening.

"Thorin, you said you are courting me, correct?" He gave the dwarf a winsome smile, ignoring the uneasy look that had suddenly come over the bearded face.

"Yes...?" was the tentative reply.

"Well, hobbits have customs too, you know," Bilbo said. Thorin heard the teasing tone and relaxed a bit, leaning back in his chair.

"Is that so? I would expect no less. Have I transgressed one of them? Hopefully not more than one," the dark-haired dwarf said.

"Only one at the moment, at least that I can think of," Bilbo smirked, "but a very serious one. In the Shire, we wouldn't dream of courting someone without at least an occasional kiss, you know." Oh dear, Bilbo thought as a flush crept up Thorin's face. Perhaps this was a bit more forward by dwarven standards than I meant to be.

"I... that is... uh..." Thorin mumbled, looking around uncomfortably. The hobbit felt a sinking sensation in his gut; more than a bit forward, it seemed. Bilbo almost said not to worry about it, that it was never his intention to make Thorin uncomfortable. He was shocked after a moment when Thorin simply said "Very well." With that the dwarf stepped around the table, rested his hands on the hobbit's shoulders, leaned down and kissed him. Bilbo had been expecting a peck on the cheek, or maybe if he was lucky, a sweet and gentle kiss on the lips. A soft kiss, a kindly kiss, a kiss of promise where you could taste a tiny bit of sweetness with a promise of honeycombs in the future. Perhaps the sort of tentative courting kiss two tweens might exchange. That was not in any way the kiss he received. Thorin leaned into the hobbit, lips pressing down onto Bilbo's, tongue sliding around the edge of his lips until it found its way in. The gentle scratch of the dwarf's beard on his face was a new thing but a welcome one. Bilbo had certainly been kissed before, and in fact he had done his share of kissing others. He thought himself a bit more worldly than some he could name, but he had never felt so completely ravished and plundered by a kiss in his life. By the time Thorin faded slowly backwards, lips shining red and eyes black with desire, the hobbit's head was whirling with breathless lust and his knees would have dropped him to the floor if he had been standing. There was no promise of honeycomb in the future in this kiss; this kiss was more like falling into a bottomless ocean of honey headfirst, possibly with some bees still present. Bilbo realized that he was panting for air, great gulps of it, trying to reconcile the dwarf he had thought he knew with the one who just gave him that kiss. Who in the Seven Realms of Arda could have expected _that_? The hands Thorin had placed on his shoulders were tense and trembling slightly. At that moment, he realized that Thorin hadn't even had his arms around him, his dwarf had turned him into a quivering wreck with only a kiss. Bilbo my lad, you are in terrible, terrible trouble, he thought dazedly to himself.

"That... that was..." Bilbo found himself at a complete lack for words. Thorin stepped back abruptly, formality returning with an almost audible crash, though tension was still evident in the set of his shoulders and his clenched hands.

"I hope that was sufficient for Shire customs," Thorin said in a choked voice. "I am not sure whether you are supremely confident in my willpower or if you are testing it to see if I am worthy, but I will say you have set me quite a strong challenge with this. To ask me for such a thing without a chaperone present is... quite difficult." Bilbo paused. He didn't want to be offended by that statement, but...

"I'm sorry you see it as difficult to kiss me," he said quietly, trying to keep the hurt from his voice. He was quite taken aback by Thorin's humorless laugh.

"Difficult to kiss you? No, _mizimel_ , it is difficult to stop." Thorin stepped into the hallway. "I should get to the forge." And with that, he let himself out the door. The thunk of the round wooden door closing shocked Bilbo out of his stupor.

"But... breakfast...?" he called out, but the dwarf had already departed. Bilbo sat trying to catch his breath, realizing that he was painfully hard in his breeches. How could anyone kiss like that? After a quick and rather ashamed trip to the bedroom, he was able to think somewhat clearly again at the expense of needing to clean up. He went and fixed himself scrambled eggs with mushrooms, aftershocks of that mad, wonderful kiss going off like fireworks in his mind through the whole meal. Meal! With a start, he remembered that Thorin had left the house without eating. While he was nervous about accidentally feeding him the wrong thing in a public place, Bilbo also knew that working a forge all day on no food was no way he'd sentence an enemy to live, let alone the dwarf that he... felt strongly for. He stepped on that thought, then sat on it for good measure. One day at a time, Bilbo, one day at a time, he ruminated. See what the future holds. Finally he decided to only pack things he'd seen Thorin eat with no problems; that was easy enough to do, and shouldn't cause any nausea or other issues. As he packed the food in a small basket to carry it by the forge, he hoped that whatever the future held, he sincerely wished for it to hold more kisses like that.

The market was already in full swing by the time Bilbo walked down the Hill. He could see the crowds of hobbits wandering, shopping, speaking with neighbors. There was even a group of tall people from Bree, and it was rare indeed to see men at a Hobbiton market. As he turned the corner at the stable, he stopped and gaped. The smithy was practically besieged; hobbits were standing around with their broken items and patchwork, talking, shouting, waving, all trying to get their work handed over at once. Thorin looked to be on the verge of exploding. The faunt from earlier that morning was leaning against the wall watching the show, grinning from ear to ear at the chaos. He seemed startled when Bilbo appeared beside him.

"Good morning again, young sir," Bilbo said, "what is your name?"

"F-Fredegund, sir, but everyone calls me Freddy," came the stammering reply. Bilbo could remember being that age all too well, and he could see the 'am I in trouble' signs flickering behind those mischievous black eyes.

"Very good, Freddy. And where do you live? I don't believe I've seen you before. Who are your parents?" As the faunt's face fell and closed, Bilbo suspected that he had stepped in it for certain this time.

"I'm an orphan, sir, but thanks for asking. We were from the Marish, and my parents died a few months back of an illness, bad airs there I'm told. But when... well, when it happened, I came to be an errand boy at the Green Dragon in Bywater. Today's my day off." Freddy looked around worriedly. "I didn't mean to be no trouble, sir. Thank you for the biscuits, they were lovely." Freddy seemed poised to run off. Bilbo had known he was probably in dangerous territory, but that 'thanks for asking' shattered his heart into a thousand razor-edged shards.

Bilbo's voice was a bit thick when he spoke. "No trouble, lad, no trouble at all. Tell me, Freddy, do you know your letters?" At the faunt's suspicious look, Bilbo went on quickly. "There's a point to this, I promise. Have you learned to read and write?"

"Yes sir, my mum taught me before..." he sniffled, then bore on bravely. "Before. So yes, I can read most things, write fairly well, do simple sums and such. Do you need some help?"

"Seems I do, Freddy. See that dwarf over there?" They both glanced over at a truly amazing scowl, one which was causing customers to attempt to back up in spite of the press of the crowd behind them. "He looks like he's about to lose his temper, and that will help no-one. Clearly he needs an assistant. Why don't you go over there and get a list together of who needs what for him while I get some food in him? Then when he and the crowd are both in better moods, he can use your list to sort it out. Can you do that?" Freddy nodded, visibly pleased to be given such an important task. Seeing the question before it was even asked, Bilbo continued "And if you stay and help him like that until he closes, I'll give you a silver Shire penny for the work. Does that sound fair?" Eyes practically bulging, Freddy nodded and frantically ran over to start speaking to people. Bilbo walked over and collared an irate Thorin, dragging him despite his protests back into the forge.

"Bilbo, stop, I must get these..." he broke off, and the hobbit was glad he did. He wasn't sure what the next word was going to be, but he was certain it wasn't going to be a nice one. He blinked down in mystification at the basket that was thrust unceremoniously into his hands.

"Eat." Bilbo shook his head at the mulish look and pointed at the basket. "Not another word until you eat. I won't have you shaming me, Thorin Oakenshield, by walking out of my house unfed and being rude to half of Hobbiton," then in a quieter voice for Thorin's ears alone, "though they most likely very well deserve it." The surprised grin that flashed across the bearded face for only a second was a welcome sight. Thorin opened the cloth in the basket and set to eating without another word, though his jaw still looked set under the short black beard. "I've arranged for young Freddy to take a list for you and sort your customers out. Everyone loves a faunt, so you'll get high marks for working with one, and he will get some much needed money, poor lad. I'm paying him far more than the job would normally, but he needs a bit of kindness right now." Thorin stopped eating and looked up.

"I will pay him," he grumbled. "It's not right that..."

"I said I will do it and I will do it! Now eat your food, you ridiculous dwarf." He grinned, and Thorin grinned back. By the time Bilbo left with the basket (now empty and easily repurposed for carrying his market shopping) he had a spring in his step. He noticed as he left that Freddy had whipped the crowd into an orderly line and was chatting up an elderly matron in the front, working his fauntish cuteness for all he could get. He shook his head fondly, and caught the boy's eye. When Freddy came over, Bilbo whispered to him "Come see me this afternoon, you're doing a fine job indeed." He left a smiling faunt, a more cheerful smith, and a calmer crowd behind.

The shopping took longer than anticipated, and Bilbo could hardly believe that a week ago, Thorin showed up at his house. Market days would always have a memory attached now, though he reminded himself not to buy so much this time that he needed help with it. At the butcher's shop he ran into Rhoda Gamgee, who regaled him with tales of their children, and the huge clan of nieces, nephews, cousins and assorted hangers-on that the Gamgees of the Southfarthing always had around. The Hobbiton house had been added to the visting rota, so Bilbo knew most of them. As they parted, she warned him that she and Ham had once again spied someone wandering around in his garden, though the person had left before they could see any details. He wondered sourly if it was Lobelia again. Well, she could look all she wanted, he supposed. What could she possibly do?

As Bilbo wandered up the Hill, breathing a bit heavily from carrying all the food and parcels, he noticed a group of what appeared to be dwarves at his house. As he drew closer, he saw that they were in fact dwarves, and appeared to be waiting for him. How odd, he thought. Surely something to do with Thorin, but nobody knows he's here, and what could it possibly be? He didn't recognize them, so if they were from Erebor they had arrived after he had left. They didn't carry the distinctive Iron Hills mattocks; instead they all wore chainmail armor with heavy axes slung on their backs and blades at their belt except for the dwarf who was clearly the leader of the party. His beard and hair were long and jet-black, braided elaborately with gold and crystal beads, and his braids were complex enough that Bilbo wondered (as he often had with members of his party) how dwarves managed to maintain such elaborate hairstyles and such active lifestyles at the same time.

As Bilbo puffed up to the mat, he spoke. "Good afternoon, gentle... dwarves, Bilbo Baggins at your service! I apologize for being out, but I hadn't a notion you would come calling. I'm afraid you've caught me coming from the market. If you give me just half a moment I can..."

"You are the Burglar, then." The leader's voice was a rich tenor, but sounded eerily familiar. He stepped over and peered down at Bilbo quizzically with pale blue eyes the color of ice. "You aren't at all what I expected."

"Well, I... uh..." Bilbo wasn't quite sure how to take that. "I'm not sure what was expected, and I'm sure that's yours to determine. Pardon me, let me put my things in my smial if you please." He wormed his way around the dwarf, standing and staring at him, and fought his way through the door. Why must dwarves always stand in the way, he wondered grimly. Even when he was traveling, he could never see anything because there was always a mass of braids between him and whatever interesting thing was happening. The guards (for so Bilbo assumed they must be) simply stared at him rudely. Bilbo was approaching rudeness himself if the tone of this encounter kept up.

No sooner had he gotten in the door and set his packages down than he heard the tenor voice asking "May I enter your house?" The nerve of this dwarf! Bilbo whipped around and marched back out into the hall, putting his hands on his hips and glaring.

"And why would you wish to do so? You haven't even introduced yourself, I'll remind you, despite waiting on my doorstep and blocking my door! Since rudeness seems to be the preferred tone, very well, I shall be rude. Who are you, and what do you want?" The dwarven leader glared, and Bilbo was seized with a sudden moment of worry. That glare looked very much like Thorin. Now that he thought about it, the accent and voice were so similar to Kili and Fili's that...

"I apologize if we seem rude. I have come on a delicate matter." The leader waved and the other dwarves trooped away out of earshot. He turned back and said "I ask again, may I enter?"

"Yes, very well, come in if you must, I will fix some tea." As the door closed, the dwarf sank into a kneeling position, leaving Bilbo aghast. "What...?"

"I am Dis, daughter of Thrain, and I have come to plead for my brother's life."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. Life has been a little hectic. Hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> ... and, uh, don't hate me for the cliff-hanger :D


	6. Chapter 6

Bilbo felt the floor sliding sideways and realized he was about to faint. He flopped down gracelessly on a bench set by the door, staring at the dwarven leader who was apparently Thorin's... sister? No wonder she sounded like Fili and Kili, she was their mother! "Thorin's... life. I... well. I'm... quite honestly, I'm not sure what to say. What do you mean?" Bilbo's tongue wouldn't obey him, though he had no idea what he would say if it did. His thoughts chased themselves around the inside of his head like birds trapped in a room.

Dis glanced up from where she was kneeling, dark brows drawn down over ice blue eyes. "I doubt you are aware, but my brother passed his throne to my son and left his kingdom. He said he would try to come here, but we have been unable to find him." Looking past her finery and her elaborate braids, Bilbo saw now that her face was lined with worry, dark circles under the eyes testifying to sleepless nights and dark thoughts. "There are... things you must know. It is forbidden to tell these things to outsiders except in dire times, but if it be an offense against Mahal or _khuzd_ , I take that shame upon myself. I cannot lose my brother because my tongue will not speak." Dis looked up, her face a picture of abject misery. "I request that you keep these things I tell you close and do not repeat them. They are not things for the ears of non-dwarves to hear or know. It is only in the most extreme of circumstances that I must tell them to you." More bloody secrets, Bilbo thought. He almost shook her. Must everything in his life be hidden behind a veil of dwarven secrecy?

"I won't tell your secrets, but what is this about Thorin? Speak! He's in danger? How?" Bilbo cursed himself; he had known something was wrong. Thorin was ill! He must have been lying about it. Oh, when he got his hands on that dwarf he would do his best to save his life so that he could wring his neck! Dis gathered herself visibly, and Bilbo urged her "Get up, please, there's no need for you to be on the floor like that, I'm sure it's terribly uncomfortable. Come into the kitchen and I'll make a pot of tea. Even terrible things are better with a cup of tea." She shot him an odd look, but stood and followed him into the kitchen. Once there she sank gratefully into the chair Thorin usually sat in (and Bilbo thought how peculiar it was to think of someone who had been a guest for a week having 'usual' things!) As he put the kettle on the hob, he said "Please, continue. Tell me about what's wrong with Thorin. Never fear, I'll do everything in my power to help. Is he ill? How can I be of service?" When Dis didn't answer, he gave her a sharp glance and saw her looking uncomfortable. If he hadn't spent the past week with a dwarf who made that exact same face, he wouldn't have recognized the expression, but under the circumstances she might as well have shouted it through the halls. "Come along, madam! You started this discussion, now carry on with it until it's done. What is the matter?"

Dis sighed deeply. "Master Burglar..." she began and stopped. Bilbo sighed.

"I am no longer a burglar, if ever I was one in the first place. Please, call me Bilbo, or Master Baggins if you must be formal." Bilbo said, spooning tea leaves into the pot. He went to the pantry and put some of the remaining biscuits on a plate, more for something to keep busy than out of hunger. He thought he might scream if she didn't get to the point.

"Master Baggins," she began again, "when you traveled with my people, did anyone discuss... the dwarven process of courting and marriage?" She was deeply uncomfortable now, and Bilbo felt his irritation turning into proper anger. He suspected he knew where this was going, and wasn't in the mood to endure prying from Thorin's relatives any more than he had been keen on it from his own.

"No but I've heard a bit about it recently," he said shortly. "What of it?"

"Recently?" She seemed puzzled for a moment, but shook her head and pressed on. "Are you aware that dwarves only fall in love once, if at all? And that many dwarves do not marry, either from not being able to get the partner they desire, or simply for lack of interest?" She picked at the table exactly like Thorin did, running her fingers over the scrapes and dents in the wood and picking at the edges. "This is very uncomfortable for me to speak of, just so you know." Bilbo barely heard the last sentence from being flabbergasted by the two before it.

"I... no, I wasn't aware of that. So... it is common for a dwarf not to be able to marry?" The hobbit's head was truly whirling now, and he gratefully jumped at the roar of the kettle and poured water into the teapot to give his hands something to do. "That's interesting, Lady Dis, but if you don't mind my asking, what does that have to do with Thorin?" Dis looked away, mouth a flat line of discomfort.

"Not common exactly, but not uncommon either. Still... there is more. Love is a sort of... spiritual matter between dwarves," she said, face crimson beneath the beard. "There is a bonding of souls, not just an emotional connection. It is one of the deep spiritual mysteries of our race, and one we do not ever discuss with outsiders... yet here we are. Still, the connection is powerful, and must either be formalized or set aside. When a dwarf is... unable... to have the one he or she wants, there is a ceremony that must be done. It breaks the bond, you see. Without this ceremony, the desire for union with the other becomes burdensome at first and eventually overwhelming. It begins to gnaw at the mind of the dwarf; it affects many aspects of their life. They cannot eat, they cannot sleep, they become unstable and withdrawn. A dwarf may easily die of unrequited love if there is no ceremony of ending to break the connection. It has happened before, many times. We all hear cautionary stories when we are children, warning of the dangers of falling in love before we are married or at least betrothed." Bilbo's mind scrabbled at this, refusing to make sense of it. Why was she telling him this? He went to pour water into the teapot, only to realize that he had already done so a moment before. Instead of closing the lid, he just stared at the leaves swirling there, slowly opening and unfolding, staining the water darker as they leached their essence into it.

"I'm afraid I must ask you again, what does this have to do with Thorin?" He knew, though. He knew. It was so like that ridiculous, preposterous, unbelievably arrogant dwarf of his not to tell him something like this that he couldn't even be surprised. Furious, my goodness yes, but hardly surprised.

She gave a tiny sigh, a mere wisp of air. "Master Baggins, Thorin is in love with you." Her face was flaming red, and she was staring fixedly at the table, brows clenched and forehead furrowed in apparent shame. "He has been since before you left Erebor, and likely since before you arrived at the mountain at all." Bilbo heard her words through a roaring sound that filled his ears. A tiny part of his mind wondered if he would just die of rage and shame from finding out something so special in such a dirty, offhanded way. She said it like it was common knowledge, like it was the street gossip of Erebor, though Thorin had certainly never managed to convey it to _him_ , the putative object of these supposed affections. He fought back the urge to shout; being rude to Dis wouldn't help anything, though the temptation burned in the very marrow of his bones.

"I see." He said coldly. "you seem awfully certain of this. I assume he told everyone of his feelings except me?" He wasn't sure whether to be comforted or offended by the look of utter horror on her face.

"No!" she half-shouted, then restrained herself. "I beg your pardon. No, he only spoke of it to my sons, who you know already, and only because they were forced to take the throne. He had become... unstable. They had to know why. They in turn told me because... well, I _am_ their mother." Bilbo poured a cup of tea through the strainer and passed it to her, along with a plate containing a few of the oatmeal raisin biscuits, then poured one for himself. She tasted one and looked down at it appreciatively. "These are very good, thank you. Master Baggins, I don't know how well you got to know my brother during your travels together, but Thorin has had a very difficult life. He judges himself harshly for what befell our people, though it wasn't his fault. As a result, he has always assumed the worst with regards to himself. He feels he is unworthy of happiness, or so I am forced to assume. Since you accompanied him on his quest for the recovery of our homeland, you no doubt noticed that he has a regrettable tendency to find the most difficult way to do anything. Ever since he was a child, if Thorin attempted a thing which most dwarves would find challenging by itself, he sought to do it backwards while walking on his hands, just to prove he could. It is his nature, I'm afraid." In spite of himself and the sense of building pressure in his head, Bilbo had to laugh. That was the best description of Thorin he had ever heard anyone give.

"I... yes, I had noticed that. He seems to enjoy making himself miserable for some reason. But..." He stared into the depths of his teacup, watching the liquid swirl slowly. "I had no idea any of this was the case. If I had known, I would never have left Erebor without some resolution. But allow to me be sure I comprehend what you are saying properly. If I understand what you are telling me correctly, Thorin chose me to be his one romantic relationship for his lifetime, but he did not tell me of it. He tried to brave it out, despite hearing stories his whole life of how doing such a thing would drive him mad and eventually kill him. Finally he was in such a parlous state that Fili had to take the throne for the good of the kingdom. Thorin then left and, in true dramatic fashion, determined to come to the Shire all alone across a thousand miles of wilderness or die trying. Is this an accurate summary?" He had passed into a new level of rage, he found, one that he had never experienced before. Everything was clear and crystalline, almost like not being angry at all, but there was a looming sense of being on the verge of exploding at any moment. Dis nodded miserably.

"An admirably neat summary. Well done," Dis chuckled in spite of herself. "You would have made a fine dwarf, Master Baggins. The only correction I would offer is that 'chose' is perhaps the wrong word. We dwarves have a number of theories about finding our One, but all agree there is little choice involved. It may be that the choice is made for us, or that we choose before we come into this life... There are various speculations as to why put forward by our scholars, but having experienced it myself I can assure you there is no conscious process of choosing. When we see them (if indeed we ever see them), after a while we become aware of the bond. The process is gradual at first. After knowing the other for a time we simply realize one day that without them, we cannot go on." She sipped her tea, showing exhaustion in every movement. "I am sorry to put all this on you, Master Baggins. I know how preposterous this must all sound to an outsider. I only came here out of desperation, and in the hope that we can locate Thorin before... something terrible happens. I am uncertain if he is even alive at this point; as I said, my agents have been unable to find him. He is doubtless weak from starvation, since he would be unable to eat with his condition so far advanced. He may even be raving, as I doubt he can sleep. But please... if we find him, will you be willing to conduct the ceremony to end the connection? It is a great deal to ask, and probably seems like mystical hogwash to you, but..." Bilbo interrupted.

"I assure you, he is fine at the moment, though he won't be when I get my hands on him," he said in a calm voice, though his eyes snapping with barely restrained fury.

" _What_?" Dis shouted. "What do you mean? How could you possibly know that? Have you seen him?" She thrust herself up from the table, teacup tipping and spilling a flood of tea across the tabletop. "Is he here? How could you hide him from me, knowing..."

"That is quite enough. Sit down, madam." Bilbo's tone was sharp enough to cut glass. He was holding onto the fraying ends of his temper tightly, but he knew if Dis continued the favorite Durin pastime of shouting accusations, his hold wouldn't last very long. When she didn't move, he repeated more loudly "Sit _down_ , I say!" She slowly sank into her chair, eyes locked on his. He huffed in disgust and went to get a tea towel to clean up the mess. "Thank you. Now, he is at the smithy in Hobbiton. He is healthy, and in good spirits. He is eating, though he is very thin and he looked utterly dreadful when he arrived here a week ago. He has been staying as my guest." She burst in.

"Eating? How can he be eating? Did... ohhh." She stared at Bilbo as though he had a second head, gaze flicking from the cookies to the hobbit. "You cook your own food, don't you? And that's what he's been eating?" At Bilbo's puzzled nod she laughed delightedly, sounding happy for the first time in this horrible visit. "Food from the hands of his beloved, yes, he could eat that. But he never ate anything you didn't cook, did he?" It was the hobbit's turn to have an epiphany. So that was what had made Thorin ill with Rhoda's peach bread! She read his understanding from his expression and nodded wisely. "Food from anyone else would sicken him like poison. But he's healthy and he's eating, oh that's wonderful news, that's the best..." She stopped and a peculiar look went across her face. "Master Baggins... I beg your pardon in advance for this question but do you live... alone?"

"Yes," he said curtly. What on earth did that have to do with anything, Bilbo wondered. He knew he wasn't thinking very clearly, but it was taking all his concentration not to throw a proper fit. The sheer gall of Thorin, to not tell him any of this! Dis was now a portrait of discomfort, hands twisting around each other.

"Again, I hesitate to ask, but... has my brother been... appropriate?" Her flush had deepened to the point where it seemed her elaborate braids were in danger of actually igniting. Bilbo would have been appalled at the question if he had had any modicum of emotion left outside of boiling rage. The sheer cheek! "Dwarves who are left unattended with their Ones are not always... proper... in their behavior," she said faintly. Bilbo glared at her.

"I find the question unbelievably impertinent, as it's none of your bloody business. However, since you feel you must know, he's been a perfect gentleho... dwarf, as if it were your concern. I have had no complaints about his propriety, and thank you so very much for prying," and with that his badly strained temper finally snapped. "Though I will tell you that I fully intend to flay the skin off his worthless carcass for not telling me any of these things. I suppose I should thank you for telling me the truth, though in all honesty that's a bit beyond me at the moment. It simply beggars belief that he would show up and ask to court me and not _tell_ me any of this! I can't remember when I was ever so furious," he hissed, and suddenly noticed her staring eyes. "Oh yes, your brother showed up with sweet words and being the fool that I was, I had always felt drawn to him so I thought we had reached an understanding! Only for you to tell me that he was... he was _dying_ and couldn't be bothered to tell me! I shouldn't be as angry as I am, for it's truly the most Thorin thing he could possibly do but..." Bilbo was forced to stop speaking because he was shouting. Instead, he clutched at his hair. Dis was sitting at the table, seemingly stunned into speechlessness.

Bilbo was focused on breathing (and not screaming) so he didn't notice when she finally drew herself upright, though he did look up at the movement as she squared her shoulders like a soldier going into battle. "It seems I must abjectly beg your pardon, Master Baggins. It never occurred to me that Thorin's affections might be returned. I suppose that reflects poorly on me as a sister, but... I can only offer my sincerest apologies. I meant you no disrespect."

Drawing on decades of social training, Bilbo was able to pull himself together. "Think nothing of it. You had no way to know." He closed his eyes briefly. "Perhaps I should apologize as well. You have only acted out of concern for your family, and that is noble enough. I fear that I may have taken some of my frustration with the situation out on you unfairly, and I do regret that. It isn't your fault that your ridiculous brother, for unknown reasons of his own, seems to have..." There was a knock at the door. Bilbo's cheek twitched, and he thought to himself, if this is Thorin, I may very well conduct Dis' ceremony and send him on his way. Instead of continuing, he just gave a furious huff of breath and stomped over to the door. When he jerked it open (quite rudely, he knew), Freddy leaped back in startlement. Bilbo was horrified. "Oh! Freddy. Terribly sorry, I have unexpected guests and forgot..."

"Sir, sir!" The black haired young faunt was jumping up and down with excitement, curls bouncing. "Your dwarf is a right hero!"

"Is he," was all Bilbo could muster. Lady of the Green, what now?

"Aye, sir, the men were there, tallboys from Bree," Bilbo's lips compressed and Freddy caught himself, "sorry, sir, the big men, you know, an' one started yelling real loud with Widow Chubb, what sells the sewing and knitting, an' she told him to go an' he wouldn't an' the smith came an' popped him right in the snot box! Down he went, bam! I seen it all, just like a story!" The faunt was so excited his words were pouring out in a long stream, but Bilbo drew himself up.

"Freddy, we do not use terms like that in polite company. Struck him in the nose if you must, but not... what you said. Struck... wait! Thorin struck a man in the market?" Bilbo's fury vanished, replaced by concern. The dwarven guards across the lane were eavesdropping more blatantly than Bofur and Gloin when trying to resolve a bet.

"Aye, sir, the shirriffs came and hauled the man away for he were down on the ground holdin' his face an' they said they'd have had a devil of a time collarin' him if the smith weren't so quick to lay him down like that. I mean, to help." The faunt tried to look worried, but his excitement was radiating in all directions. He was so excited he was practically vibrating in place. The guards were standing across the road, furiously not-smiling in that way that was more obvious than grinning openly. "He's the hero of the market, an' everyone's singin' his praises! Widow Chubb said she was gonna make him a plum trifle!" Bilbo nodded, impressed in spite of himself. Amegdaline Chubb's plum trifle was a rare treat... not that Thorin could eat it, he remembered angrily. Dis appeared in the doorway behind him, shocking Freddy. She barked orders in Khuzdul to the lounging guards and motioned brusquely. They immediately marched off down the road in the direction of the market. Freddy goggled at the show. "Cor, are you runnin' a hotel for dwarves, Mister Bilbo, sir? 'Scuse me sir, didn't mean to interrupt." He nodded apologetically to Dis.

Dis smiled at the young hobbit. "Good afternoon, young master hobbit. Master Baggins is a friend to the dwarves; perhaps more of one than we deserve. And what is your name?" Seeing the maternal look on that craggy face, Bilbo wondered how he had ever thought Dis was a male.

Bilbo sighed and made introductions. "Dis, daughter of Thrain," and didn't Freddy turn a fascinating puce color at that, "may I introduce Fredegund... terribly sorry, lad, I forgot your family name. He's been a tremendous help to Thorin at the forge." The young hobbit puffed his chest out, pride overcoming embarassment. Standing in the road in stained and slightly ragged clothes which were a size too small for his growing body, the boy still looked as proud as any lord.

"Deepleaf, sir, missus, I mean... Fredegund Deepleaf, at your service. Call me Freddy, though, if it please you, most everyone does." He bowed, clearly remembering his manners, and Bilbo felt a surge of affection for the boy. "Sorry for the confusion earlier, missus." He looked away sheepishly as Dis laughed. Deepleaf, Bilbo thought. I'll have to look into the family, see why this poor boy was left to live the life of a vagrant. Errand boy at the Green Dragon indeed, and him just a child! Dis was smiling down at Freddy.

"Dwarf women pass as men in public, so no offense was taken, young sir. Did I overhear that my brother had caused some sort of commotion?" Bilbo closed his eyes and sighed; the temptation to run away screaming and live out the rest of his life in the library at Rivendell was suddenly almost irresistible.

"Your brother? Ee, the smith's your brother? Well I'll be! Aye, missus, he..." casting a wary glance at Bilbo, Freddy clearly swallowed the first words that came to mind and said "He struck a man in the nose for giving Widow Chubb a bit o' lip... I mean, for mouthing off?" He glanced guiltily at Bilbo, who was now pinching the bridge of his nose and laughing quietly. He gave up. The day was just going to be itself no matter what he wanted, and this was one thing too many.

"Apparently the man was causing trouble and Thorin knocked him down. The local shirriffs have taken him away, and Thorin is considered the hero of the day." Bilbo said, still fighting the urge to laugh inappropriately. Dis felt no such restraint and burst out laughing.

"That's my brother! And if he's fighting to defend people he just met, clearly he is feeling better." She eyed Bilbo with a secretive smile. "Of course, who knows why he might do such a thing." Freddy looked back and forth between Dis and Bilbo, aware that he was missing something but not sure what. Bilbo scoffed quietly and looked away, embarrassed but unwilling to broach the topic in front of the child. He was still furious with Thorin, he reminded himself. If Dis wasn't careful, he might just extend his wrath to the rest of the family.

"Excuse me for a moment, Dis, young master Deepleaf and I have some business to discuss." She smiled indulgently and stepped inside, and Bilbo slipped him a silver penny. "Freddy, you did a wonderful job as best I could tell. Let me speak with Thorin and get his impressions. Stop by tomorrow, if you will. Do you have duties at the inn?" Freddy grimaced, deflating again.

"Aye, sir, that I do. Tomorrow's my day to muck the stables, and after I'll chop wood, 'less Big Gar is done with it already. I can wash up a bit and be here around teatime if it please you; only, after doin' the stables, it's a bit..." Freddy trailed off.

"Yes, yes, I'm familiar with the problem," Bilbo said hurriedly. He was going to have to work with this boy on his public manners, he could tell already. "But I look forward to seeing you then for tea." The older hobbit gave an avuncular smile. Freddy looked a bit overawed, and just nodded. "Now you should run along before it gets dark; I don't want you getting in trouble for being late. Oh! But before you go, wait here a moment," and Bilbo scampered off into the house. Racing into the kitchen past an amused Dis, he threw together a sandwich with mustard and the last of the beef and took it out to Freddy with a smile. "My mother would rise to haunt me if I sent a young hobbit away hungry. Have a peaceful evening, Freddy, and Thorin and I will see you tomorrow."

"Thank you sir, thank you, see you tomorrow," Freddy said around a mouthful of food. He headed off at a trot, still inhaling his sandwich to the point that Bilbo thought the boy might be in danger of choking. Either it didn't occur to Thorin to feed Freddy (likely), the boy was too hesitant or too poor to purchase food (equally likely), or he was just a growing faunt and needed more food than any other living creature (almost certain). Bilbo made a note to ask Fortinbras about the Deepleaf family tragedy at the earliest opportunity; that boy was far too clever to be abandoned to a life of chopping wood and mucking stables. Now, he sighed, what to do with Thorin. The distraction had proved welcome, and knocked him down from his initial fury, but still he felt betrayed and hurt at not being told such important information. Thorin was constantly telling him things and claiming they were 'secrets', but somehow he forgot to mention the most important secret of all? As he went back inside, Dis was waiting for him.

"Did you send the boy off with food?" Dis asked, eyes laughing. "He reminded me so much of Kili I could barely stand it."

"Of course," Bilbo sighed, "faunts eat more than three hobbits, and hobbits eat more than most others. He will be a bottomless pit for food for another twenty years or so. Faunt problems I am familiar with; I'm not sure what to do about your brother." At that she gave another great burst of laughter, ignoring his scowl in response.

"Master Baggins, none of us have ever known what to do about Thorin. If you truly are interested in receiving his courtship, then you will join a family of people who are utterly confounded by my brother's behavior in just about any conceivable circumstance. He can be infuriating, take it from me; I've known him for over a century and a half, and I would say I have understood his thinking on so few occasions I could number them on the fingers of one hand. He is a good dwarf, though, and a good person. I apologize again for my assumption that..." Bilbo held up a hand, cutting her off.

"Not another word about it, it seems a bit odd to me as well, yet here I am. I need to speak to him about all this before I go much further. I assume you sent your guards to go fetch him?" She nodded and looked as though she was about to speak, but the door flew open so sharply it rebounded from the wall of the smial. Snickering from the guards didn't help the matter. Bilbo decided that if the wall or door was harmed, he would build a new one out of dwarf bones, but the smith wasn't there. This was the king in full cry.

" _Namadith! Durinul zantul'abban!_ " Thorin had arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since it's uncommon Khuzdul (and I cribbed it from the lovely and talented StrivingArtist):
> 
>  _Durinul zantul'abban_ : Durin's hairy bollocks


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, I apologize profusely to all of you for how long this took. I rewrote this conversation approximately a jillion times since it was important and it needed to say what it said in a way that was both in character and readable. Life has finally also picked up again after the plague and my job has finally gotten around to expecting me to, you know, job again. I work in a fairly heady field, so after a long day of work it's not as easy to get my brain to continue wanting to write instead of sitting around and playing computer games :D My apologies again for how long it has taken, and hopefully I can get the rest of this done in a more timely fashion. To all who have commented and kudos'ed and generally brightened my life, thank you so very much! If I have brought you half as much joy as you have brought me with your kindness, I feel lucky. <3

Thorin surged into the room shouting, only to be met with a countersurge from Dis. Bilbo thought that if they had horns, they would have locked them like rams; as it was they were chest to chest, shouting like they were on a battlefield. Both were yelling at the top of their lungs in Khuzdul. Bilbo's ears were ringing; it was no wonder the children of Durin were renowned as generals, since this din could be heard above any battle. Fortinbras and his aunts could probably hear the fight at the Great Smial in Tuckborough, as loud as they were. Bilbo stood for a moment indecisively, then scurried off into the kitchen and snatched up his baking sheet. He glanced at it, offering it a brief apology in his mind. It deserved better than this, but needs must. With that, he flung the sheet of iron down flat on the flagstones in the entry hall, making a such a horrendous clang that it brought merciful silence for a moment. When both dwarves looked at him, he rounded on them both. "Quiet, the both of you! More than enough from the two of you, I'll warrant. The only thing more rude than starting a fight in someone else's house is to do it in a foreign language! I'm sure you've disturbed my neighbors with your row, and thank you so much for giving me one more reason for shame. As if you hadn't done enough already." He added acidly. Bilbo now knew enough about dwarven culture to use that bolt, and sure enough it struck home. Two angry faces fell at the same time, though the furious looks indicated the argument was on hold, not resolved. Good, he thought. No more than you deserve. "I think we've had quite enough of this. Dis, you will wait outside until I call you back in. There is a bench in the garden which you are welcome to use; sit there and calm yourself. Thorin, you will go into the study, have a seat, and wait for me to come talk to you. If this arrangement isn't to your liking, you can both leave my house." They both stared in shock at the unexpectedly fierce hobbit vibrating in fury before them. Dis opened her mouth, stared at Bilbo for a moment, nodded, and then went outside, closing the (thankfully undamaged) door behind herself.

"I can't believe..." Thorin said in a soft tone of voice, gazing at the door, only to be met with an imperious finger directing him into the study. Staring at Bilbo in puzzlement, Thorin finally nodded and turned to walk into the study. Bilbo picked up his baking sheet; another dent, he thought sadly. This one intentional. Harsh treatment for such a faithful servant. He caressed the sheet as he set it down, then put the kettle on. His hands were shaking as he emptied the tea pot, rinsed it, and brewed up again. The familiar ritual calmed him enough to settle his mind a bit, though anger still scratched at his nerves as he prepared a tray with two cups. There was no food, and Thorin might or might not get that message but Bilbo would be damned if he would feed someone with whom he was so utterly furious at the moment. Gathering the tea set, he went into the study and placed it firmly on the table. Thorin was ensconced in his familiar chair, face troubled. " _Mizimel_ , what..." he began, only to be met by Bilbo's raised hand.

"Don't call me that at the moment, please. I don't know what it means but it sounds affectionate, and I don't particularly want affection from you right now. Here is your tea." Bilbo passed over a cup. He paused to gather his thoughts while Thorin stared in shock at him from his own chair.

"I... what... Bilbo, is this about the fight in the market? I didn't even think, I can go apologize, I didn't mean..." The hobbit cut off the flood of objections.

"Thorin," he said firmly, "enough. No, this isn't about the fight, though we can discuss that in a bit." He drew in a breath, held it for a second, then let it out. "Dis told me that you left your throne because of me. That you were suffering for years, starving, not sleeping, because of me. That you were in love," he choked on the word, then rallied and pressed on. "... in love with me, and suffering because of it. Are these things true, or is this some dwarvish joke that I'm not familiar enough with the culture to understand?" His answer was visible in Thorin's face. If Bilbo had stabbed him and pulled out his heart, the dwarf couldn't have looked worse. He sat slumped in his chair, dark hair swung forward to shadow his face, and no answer was forthcoming. Moments stretched by. Finally Bilbo nodded sadly. "I see. I can only assume from your silence that these things are true. So now my question is... why? Why didn't you tell me?" He sipped his tea out of habit and it seemed to taste like dust. "Why, Thorin?"

"Because it would have ruined it." Thorin said in a quiet, choked voice that could barely be heard. He sniffled and Bilbo saw that Thorin was crying in silence, tears streaming down his cheeks into his beard. "And now it's ruined in truth."

"That answer doesn't make any sense to me," Bilbo said in exasperation. "Ruined what?"

"All this." A strong hand waved to encompass the room and presumably the smial and Hobbiton in general. "I should have known it was too good to be true. And leave it to Dis to show up and destroy everything." Bilbo snorted, not sure whether he was angry or just upset.

"Dis did nothing, you had it in your power to tell me yourself and you didn't! I'm so furious with you right now, words fail me. Let me lay out how the situation appears to me. You appeared out of the blue, and I took you in trustingly; why would I not? You told me all sorts of things, things you said I wasn't supposed to know, but you omitted the most relevant bits and I don't know why. You asked to court me, and I felt... I felt honored, and lucky, that you would be interested in someone like me. And now I don't know what to think. If you can't trust me enough to tell me things like this, to give me the whole picture... it sounds melodramatic to say it, but I feel betrayed. I certainly wouldn't marry someone I don't trust to talk to me, or who would keep such a deadly secret. Please, I beg you, explain to me in clear words why you wouldn't tell me the situation? Send for me to come help? Thorin, I would have come, you must know that. I would have come all the way back to Erebor if you needed me. Why didn't you trust me? Why _don't_ you trust me?" Now he was crying too, and cursed under his breath as he dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief.

"I trust you to be kind. Perhaps too kind." Thorin rumbled suddenly, a sour expression pretending to be a smile hanging around his lips. "That's precisely why I didn't tell you. When I came here and I saw that picture of me set where you could see it, I felt hope for the first time in years. I came here only to see you again, not to stay alive. I had already decided to die. I just... had to see you again. But that picture brought me hope, and that hope was repaid a thousand times over. I took a chance and showed you my heart, and in return I got the best gift of my life. You accepted my courtship, and you accepted it because you wanted to, because you wanted _me_ , not out of some sense of obligation or wanting to help. If I had told you..." Thorin sighed deeply, looking abjectly miserable. "I knew you from our journey; you would no more refuse help to any creature than you would go without breath. Of course you would help. But I didn't want your help, I wanted your love. You can't know what it means to me that you chose me without... without _needing_ to. I never get anything for myself, I never... never..." he was sobbing now, still in complete silence. Bilbo realized with a shock what Thorin's life must have been like to teach him to cry so silently, and his hobbitish heart burst with pity. I can't stay angry with him, he thought sadly. I just can't, Yavanna help me. He slumped in his chair to match the dwarf's posture.

"Oh Thorin," Bilbo sighed. "If you had asked to court me in Erebor, I would have most likely said yes as well, you ridiculous dwarf. That's why that picture was there. I was mad for you even then. But I don't understand why you made this all so difficult. Why would you wait until you were almost dead?" A bitter laugh came in response.

"Because you deserve better than me." Thorin's tears still trickled down into his beard, though he was wearing a sour grimace. "I thought surely you had someone waiting for you here in the Shire. That first night, when you told me they didn't value you here, I could not believe it; I still cannot. You shine like the sun, so bright that you frighten me sometimes - how do they not see it? Even if you didn't have someone waiting for you, I never dared hope that you would be interested in me. You weren't the type to desire the riches of being consort to a king, and what else did I have to offer aside from that? Nevertheless, I feared that if I spoke of it and told you of the consequences, you might have agreed to marry me out of a sense of obligation and wanting me to be happy. That thought was a worse torture than the _ma'rikh_ , the longing. I could not bear the idea of you cutting the bond. To have you agree to be courted of your own free will and no sense of obligation was like a dream. For a week, you gave me everything I ever wanted my life to be but that I never could have, and I thank you for that, no matter what happens next. But Dis came, and the dream ended, and now we are awake." He sniffled softly but drew himself up in his chair. "I am sorry, for what it is worth, though it was never my intention to betray you, or even appear to lie to you. I have never lied to you about anything with this; not one thing I've said has been anything other than correct. If I was less than forthcoming on certain matters, it was not out of malice, though it might be said it was out of greed. I meant to tell you, but I kept wishing for a few more moments with just... this, and you, and the simplicity of the life we were sharing. Even so, I understand. If you wish to perform the ceremony of release and send me away, I will go." It was the first time Bilbo had ever seen his dwarf look truly defeated. Even when they thought the secret door was lost on Durin's Day, the king hadn't looked so bereft. Now he just looked old and shattered.

Bilbo stood up and went to the other chair. Grabbing Thorin by the hand, he pulled the puzzled dwarf out of his chair and led him over to the loveseat that was rarely used. Thorin looked a mess, tear-stained, disheveled and red-eyed, but the hobbit still thought he was incredibly handsome. Once he had sat down next to the dwarf, he took his hand again. "Thorin, I'm not sending you away. But I want you to hear me," he said, as he could tell Thorin's ears had stopped processing sound after his first statement. He waited a moment until the dwarf pulled himself together and continued, "Pay attention now. You have clearly listened to far too many romantic tales in taverns. That was the most cockamamie reasoning I have ever heard in my life... but I must say it was breathtakingly romantic. What I want you to know is that I forgive you for this, but only this once. I think your reasoning was both flawed and tragic, but I understand it. I rather wish I didn't." The hobbit was forced to consider whether he would have chosen differently if he had been Thorin. His life for the past two years (and far longer than that, if he was being honest) had been achingly empty, and he was surrounded by the folk of the Shire. Imagining being alone in Erebor with all the politics and conniving of kingship, surrounded by cold and grasping courtiers and few friends... He shuddered and pressed on, "But if I ever find out that you have kept something so important from me again, I'm going to be heartbroken, and it will not be easy to forgive again. Please, please, don't keep such things from me. If we are to be together, we must be properly together, and be allowed to support each other, not hiding things and keeping secrets. I'm not a dwarf, secrets merely irritate me. Alright?" Thorin nodded, seeming to be properly abashed. "And one other thing. You seem to think me quite a bit more self-sacrificing than I am. I would never have said yes to courting you out of obligation. I would have gone through the ceremony of breaking the bond when I found out your life was in danger, but I would never have contemplated spending my life tied to someone I didn't love. I wouldn't have said yes out of obligation, I would have said yes because..." to hell with it, he thought suddenly, and went on "... because I love you, you ridiculous dwarf. I do love you, Thorin Oakenshield. I have for ages, and I said it with every meal I fixed and every moment I spent with you. I had hoped you saw it. I just wish I could have heard your feelings from you first, instead of from someone else at my door."

Thorin's tears resumed. "Though I do love you, and have for a long while, I will never forgive her," he said in a harsh, choked voice. "That was not hers to tell, or even to know." The shadow of his hair fell across his eyes but they flashed in rage nonetheless, reminding Bilbo of a cat.

"Nonsense," Bilbo replied. "She is your sister, and she left the Blue Mountains and came all this way on a slim hope that she could save your life. She loves you, and she did everything she did out of love; that is not an offense. I told you before, you had seven days to speak before she arrived. Don't make this her fault, Thorin." He reached up and smoothed back Thorin's hair from the glaring eyes. "Stop it. I have forgiven you for hiding this, so let's... let's just put it behind us." Thorin's hand came up and pressed Bilbo's fingers to his braids, the smooth hair sliding beneath his fingertips. Bilbo was suddenly breathless. I'm as bad as he is, he realized abruptly. Before this confounded dwarf arrived, my range of feelings went from "not too well, actually" to "rather good, I think". Since he's been here, I've been to more emotional peaks and valleys than I would in a decade, all in seven days. The dwarf's eyes had closed, and the worried lines that had filled his face smoothed out. "I do love you," the hobbit whispered. He had only dared whisper it to the drawing before, and not often then. To say it to the object of his affections was overwhelming at the very least.

Thorin smiled without opening his eyes. "To hear that from your lips is all I have ever wanted," he said in a voice so soft it could barely be heard. "I worry that I might be dreaming right now, with your hand in my hair and your words of love. This is... more than I ever thought I would have. My life has been unpleasant." He said with a small, pensive frown, eyes still closed. "I never imagined I could find peace. I hoped I might find it in Erebor," and finally his eyes opened and two shining sapphires pinned Bilbo to his seat, "but Erebor had nothing for me with you gone. When I first came to the Shire, I thought it small, its people petty, its concerns of no moment in the greater world. But after seeing what kingship is like my opinion has changed. I find that its people are kind, its nature is gentle... and most of all my heart is here." He turned his head to the side and pressed his lips gently to Bilbo's wrist, then turned back. "My heart is here," he repeated.

"I never would have imagined that the surly, prickly dwarven king that came through my door three years ago was such a secret romantic," Bilbo said, heat flowing through his body and unable to resist grinning from ear to ear, "but I can't say I am upset by this even slightly. I'm sure your family knew it, but..." His face fell suddenly. "Oh Lady of Flowers, I forgot Dis. I need to go let her back in... and perhaps apologize for throwing her out so abruptly." Thorin began laughing, not just chuckling but openly laughing. "What's so funny?"

Thorin wiped his eyes, relief making his humor stronger. "I can't believe you threw her out and she went! Bilbo, Dwalin still has a scar down one side of his back where my father ordered her to leave his rooms and she wouldn't. Dwalin decided to 'help' by carrying her out, and no sooner had he picked her up than she stabbed him with her pen knife. The doctor said it was a miracle that she missed his kidney, she left a slash like an orc blade. She was barely six years old at the time. Dis is impossible to send anywhere, but she obeyed you without question and went. My heart chose well." Bilbo remembered that awful scar from their trip; he had always assumed Dwalin got it from some war or battle. Dis did that? He wasn't sure whether to laugh or be appalled, so he just shook his head. He leaned in to kiss Thorin's cheek before rising, but Thorin turned his head and their lips met. It was the kitchen kiss all over again, except this time instead of sitting at the table Bilbo was leaning half over Thorin. His breath was bursting in his lungs, and this time he felt burly arms wrap around him to hold him in place. The delicious scratch of Thorin's short beard on his face, the taste of him, the smell of his hair still smoky from the forge... He was braced against a chest that felt like it was as solid as stone. He raised his hand to slide it under the dwarf's coat, to feel the muscles directly that he felt under his chest, then he remembered Dis' warning. Blast and drat, he thought. He remembered that Thorin had said he wanted to wait as well, though Bilbo had never felt less like waiting in his life. For anything, really. He tried to stand but Thorin's arms were immovable, and the warm breath along the side of his face was so delicious it made the hobbit's toes curl. 

"Thorin..." he panted, "I have to go get Dis. You said you wanted to wait, and... and I'm trying..." Reluctantly, the dwarf released his hold and his face closed down in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," he said miserably. "My willpower seems less than it was this morning. I apo..."

"Thorin Oakenshield, if you ever apologize for kissing me like that I will be very angry indeed," Bilbo panted, smiling to show he was joking. "It's my willpower that is the issue, not yours." As blue eyes widened and darkened again, Bilbo slipped away, off the loveseat and to the door. "No wonder Dis was concerned about whether we had a chaperone." He giggled at the growl that produced as he went out into the hallway. He got an even louder one when he stuck his head back through the door and said in a no-nonsense tone "And there is to be no shouting, or I really will put you both out."

When the hobbit went through the door, he braced himself. Who knew what he might find? He was pleasantly surprised to see Dis sitting quietly on his garden bench, watching the evening come on, looking as though she had not a care in the world. Only the set of her jaw beneath her decorated beard and the tilt of her brows would tell an observer she was anything other than completely relaxed. Having spent a year with dwarves who were capable of springing into murderous action with no warning from such a 'relaxed' state, Bilbo wasn't fooled. An apparently idle dwarf was a dangerous thing indeed. He made sure to close the door loudly and clear his throat as he approached, letting her know to expect him. "Good evening," he said cautiously, "thank you for stepping out for a bit to allow us to settle that. I appreciate your understanding."

"Good evening, Master Baggins," she responded acidly, "I was delighted to follow the only option I was given, short of being sent back to my mountains in disgrace." She huffed in disgust. "My apologies again, I'm taking my frustrations with my brother out on you, and that's hardly fair. Though you were quite fierce," she said with a wry glance at him. He flushed a bit, but refused to apologize for that. It was his home, after all, and he bit back a retort to that effect.

"I was feeling rather fierce, truth be told," he said a bit curtly. "Nevertheless, the storm seems to have passed and I have forgiven Thorin with the understanding that he never keep such matters hidden from me again. It seems he wanted to tell me of it himself, but hadn't done so yet. I will caution you, he is quite angry with you that you spilled the beans, as it were. I have instructed him that there is to be no shouting when you return, but I wanted you to be forewarned. I would also ask the same pledge of you. Loud arguments are not common in the Shire, and I'm sure the other houses on the Hill heard you two bellowing at each other... once could be passed off as a disagreement, especially since you aren't hobbits and dwarves are known to be irascible, but more than once could be socially awkward for everyone. Is that acceptable?" She scowled but finally nodded. "Very good. Then you're welcome back in the house, and I'll fix dinner while you two catch up in the parlor." He looked around, puzzled to see the other two dwarves missing. "What have you done with your guards?"

"The Inn," she replied. "They were hardly unobtrusive standing about in the road... or useful, for that matter. Buri wanted to stay, but I told him I hardly felt in danger here." She smiled. "It seems a rather peaceful place, when there aren't 'irascible' dwarves causing a row." Bilbo laughed at that, but his amusement faded as he looked past Dis to see his roses in tattered disarray. The current blooms had been mussed, petals torn rudely off and left on the ground, and even worse the new buds were plucked off. The bushes themselves had been foxed, and they were hardly the well-groomed healthy plants he had left the day before.

"What happened to my roses?" He said in horror. "Did... surely you didn't do this?" He glared at Dis, who looked confused.

"What? No, I only sat on the bench. Your flowers are lovely, but I was in no mood to examine them closely, let alone do whatever happened there. I saw no-one while I was here, even when I was waiting for you." Bilbo examined the broken buds and stems sadly. He formed a suspicion, and a careful search of the area revealed a tiny orange flower hidden in the grass. That dreadful, horrible woman, he thought. I've half a mind to get Dis to send the soldiers round to... he shut that thought down. "What is that?" Dis asked, peering at the miniature blossom he was holding.

"It's... another flower. It tells me who I have to thank for this, though she'd be cross to know I'd found it. One of the people here is determined to win a prize in the local Fair, and it seems she ruined my roses to ensure that she would. It's all terribly petty. My roses will be fine, of course, it's just... well, it's a shame." Compared to the joy of having Thorin present, the roses were not of primary concern, the hobbit knew, but he couldn't help feeling a moment of sadness. "I've been working on them all year, but, well, so much for that. If she's that determined to win, perhaps she should." Dis' scowl made it clear that she disagreed.

"This is dishonorable." She declared it in a flat voice, sounding so much like Thorin Bilbo was tempted to giggle in spite of the situation. "I regret that we did not arrive sooner to prevent this shameful act. No person should benefit from such behavior, whether the flowers will grow back or not." She turned to stare at Bilbo with a serious face. "You must tell Thorin."

"I will do no such thing," he snapped. "Thorin would find where she lived and storm over there and cause a scene. That's the very last thing I want." Not that he wasn't tempted, he thought sourly. But that's not how things are done here.

"You are wrong." Dis said, still in that same flat, 'just-so' voice. "You were furious with him for hiding things, and now you wish to keep a secret from him? This is not life or death, but even if it starts small, it will become such. If you truly wish him as a lifemate, you should share troubles as well as joys. It is up to you to help direct his ire, not to deny him the chance to feel it." Bebother and confusticate the whole house of Durin, Bilbo thought. I was irritated with her when she was in the wrong, but it's even worse when she's right like this! He knew that she spoke truth, but he also knew what the likely consequences were going to be.

"I see why Thorin shouts at you," was Bilbo's immediate reply. She chuckled as he sighed. "You're right, of course."

She smiled widely at that. "He shouts because I'm right. It has always been so. Like as not, he will shout when you are right as well. It is a thing to which you will become accustomed, in time." Bilbo shook his head. Was this what his life had become?

"Be told, though," Bilbo said, "I will tell Thorin about it myself. If you meddle in this, you'll have both of us against you, and that won't end well for anyone." She laughed delightedly at this.

"You sound like a dwarf already; _khuzdbaha_ indeed! Let's go in. I will hold my tongue... unless it seems that you will not speak of it." And with that threat hanging over the hobbit's head (quite unhelpfully, in Bilbo's opinion) they went back into the smial.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a fight doesn't happen, and Bilbo receives a gift of knowledge.

As they walked back into Bag End, Thorin came out of the study, glared at Dis and walked into the kitchen without saying a word. Bilbo gestured at the parlor for Dis, who went in with a smirk. "Have fun," she mouthed silently, and his answering scowl had her snickering as she went in and took a seat. Before he went into the kitchen, Bilbo went back into the study and gathered up the tea set (including Thorin's untouched cup of tea). Shaking his head, he wondered once again if it was too late to run away to live in Rivendell and hide in the library for the next fifty years or so. Probably, he thought grimly. Moving into the kitchen, he saw Thorin seated at the table like a thunderhead, glaring at the scarred wooden surface as if it had personally offended him. He looked up and seemed surprised Bilbo thought, or perhaps it was surprise to see only him.

"Where is she?" Came the baritone growl. Ah, Bilbo thought, seems I was right on that one.

"If by 'she' you mean your sister, Dis," the hobbit responded with emphasis on both words, "then she is waiting in the parlor, which is more appropriate for receiving guests than the study... or the kitchen, I'd remind you, though I'm not sure you're still properly a guest at this point." Bilbo went to rinse out the pot and smirked over his shoulder at Thorin, who was still hunched at the table, though he was now scowling at Bilbo instead of the table. "You're awfully familiar to be a guest... and I could hardly say you're proper." Thorin's huff of exasperation was met with a giggle from Bilbo... the look the hobbit received was not kind. Fond, perhaps, but not kind. The dwarf's sour look became a proper glare when the hobbit continued blithely, "... and when I have brewed this pot of tea, I am going to take it and you into the parlor, and you're going to visit with your sister nicely like civilized folk while I cook dinner. I was thinking perhaps a chicken casserole, or..."

" _Mizimel_ ," Thorin grumbled, "if indeed I am allowed to call you that again..." The hobbit looked over at him with a half-smile.

"What does it mean?" He asked. Thorin colored a bit.

"It is a term of... affection." Bilbo's narrowed eyes and pursed lips gave his opinion of this evasion. The dwarf nodded and swallowed. "It means literally 'jewel of jewels'. It is the same term that would be used to refer to magical gems such as the Silmarils, or a particularly..." Bilbo cut him off with a disbelieving look.

"Or the Arkenstone. You're calling me the same pet name you would have used for that dratted rock that almost drove you mad." Bilbo rolled his eyes. "Dwarves! Well, I will probably drive you the rest of the way mad, so perhaps it is an apt comparison. On your own head be it."

The dwarf drew himself up stiffly. "I hardly think someone who calls his beloved 'ridiculous dwarf' as a term of affection has room to talk," Thorin retorted, sounding slightly hurt and leaving Bilbo (for once) utterly without a response. After staring at him for a moment with his mouth hanging open, Bilbo nodded once sharply.

"Well struck," he said, and set the newly-filled pot on the tray, along with clean cups. "Now come along." With his intended grumbling along behind him, Bilbo made his way into the parlor where Dis had taken a seat in Bilbo's mother's chair. He knew it was silly to think of it as such, since she had been gone for so long, but it was where she always sat. Not coincidentally, it was also in the commanding place of the room, next to the fire and set so that it was the focal point of all the other chairs and the couch. Honestly, the hobbit thought, what else would I expect? Thorin was wearing his kingly mask again, boredom and apparent mild irritation hiding his emotions effectively beneath a public face. "Lady Dis, thank you for your patience, I've brought you some tea. You and your brother can catch up, I'm sure it's been quite a while since you've spoken in person. Properly, at least," he said with a sharp look as she opened her mouth. Her eyes cut to the side briefly and Thorin made a grunt which could have meant anything. "I apologize for not bringing anything to nibble at with your tea, but I'm fixing dinner and would be honored if you would join us."

"You are too kind," came Dis' warm tenor. "Were it anyone else offering I would beg off, but Inn food in the company of my guards would be a poor substitute for a proper meal cooked by such a skilled cook." At Bilbo's raised eyebrow, she smiled widely. "You forget, I had one of your delicious biscuits already. Anyone who could make those will cook to shame an innkeeper. And it would be wonderful to get to know you, since it seems you might be joining the family," she gave a sidelong look at Thorin, whose face had hardened. "Of course I accept."

"Indeed, you're too kind," Bilbo said with a warning look between the two of them. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything; there is more tea in the pot if you desire it, and I'm happy to offer a refill if the pot goes dry. Dinner should be ready in an hour. Please try not to kill each other or start a war," he said, with a final wry smile, then turned and left. An astonished snicker could be heard as he left the room, and he was unsure which of the two had given it. A low conversation in Khuzdul began as soon as he had cleared the threshold. Lady of Trees, he thought, they're like overgrown children! Even in the Shire, though, siblings had an ability to get under each others' skins in ways that an only child like Bilbo could never dream of understanding it seemed. He slipped out to the garden to get some tomatoes and cucumbers, sparing another sad glace at his tattered rosebushes, then quickly went back to the kitchen. Cocking an ear, he heard only a grumble of Khuzdul from the parlor. Good, he thought, they seem to be keeping it civil even if the language does sound like they're flinging rocks at one another. He cut up the chicken, browning it before setting it to braise for a bit, then sliced and chopped the fresh vegetables for a salad, tossing it with some seasoned oil with a bit of hard cheese grated in. At one point voices got heated enough that he thought of stepping back into the parlor, but an unidentifiable voice shushed the conversation and he sighed and shook his head, going back to the food. _Exactly_ like children, he snorted. He built the casserole and set it in the oven to bake. Now, he wondered, what on earth am I going to do for dessert?

By the time he had dinner plated and ready to serve, it sounded as though things were heating up in the parlor again. A few random words drifted as far as the kitchen, not that Bilbo was any the wiser as to their meaning, but the tone was both clear and far from pleasant. He set the dining room table swiftly, lighting the branches of candles and lamps along the walls and (as always) admiring the flickering light that played over the cabinets full of dishes and bric-a-brac in the paneled room. He stepped into the parlor to the unexpected sight of the two sitting across from each other, seemingly at ease as they continued their angry sounding dialogue. Perhaps it's just the language that's made to sound angry, Bilbo thought, and mentally threw up his hands. "Dinner is served, if it please you," he said, and was promptly almost trampled as they both headed into the dining room at speed. Memories of his first night encountering dwarven manners in this very smial overwhelmed him, and he laughed in spite of himself as he followed along behind the two apparently starving dwarves. As long as they aren't fighting, the hobbit thought with a brief roll of his eyes heavenward.

Thorin almost ran into Dis, who had stopped short in the doorway. She gazed from the wooden paneling on the groined ceilings and walls to the cases full of china, the artfully arranged furniture and the elegant lines of the table and dining chairs and her face lit up. "Master Baggins, your house is a treasure!" she said brightly. "Each room is more lovely than the last, and this is magnificent! Do all hobbits live in such comfort?" Before Bilbo could reply, Thorin spoke.

"Bilbo's father built it as a courting gift for his mother. I have a very high bar to reach, it seems." Dis' approval radiated from her face.

"That was a princely gift," she said admiringly. "On behalf of Master Baggins here, I for one expect you to match it."

Thorin's scowl was sudden and furious. "You are not his... advocate," he muttered, and Bilbo wondered briefly what word had been about to be said. Probably something incomprehensible in Khuzdul with five thousand years of history and arguments behind it, he sighed. "I intend to..." Dis went on merrily, talking over Thorin as though he weren't speaking.

"You know, Master Baggins, during dwarven courtship if one of the parties is in a situation where they are uncomfortable negotiating a match for themselves, or they don't know the laws and regulations and such as well as they might like, they can appoint a... what is it you called it, Thorin? An advocate," she smiled wolfishly. "I would be happy to negotiate for you on your behalf, though it is fairly unusual to have one from the same family as the suitor." Thorin looked about to explode, and Bilbo quickly spoke up.

"I can handle such things myself, thank you very much, if and when they become necessary. There's really no need to go to all that trouble and commotion, good heavens. Here in the Shire courtship and romance is more about fun and companionship than contracts and arguments and negotiations, I'll have you know." Bilbo led Dis to her spot at the table to give himself a moment to think. "But let's just eat, shall we? Please have a seat. No need to discuss business at the dinner table... though I find I'm about to break my own rule, it seems. Thorin, how did you find Freddy today? Was he helpful?" They all sat and began eating, Dis exclaiming over the food and Thorin eating as though he hadn't been fed in days. Her knowing eyes watched her brother eat, smiling at Bilbo from time to time.

Thorin nodded, seeming oblivious to the surveillance. "Quite. He knew everyone, and was very handy with getting what they wanted out of them and telling me in a way that made sense. Some of these farmers seem to feel I need to know about every harvest a plow has ever seen and every rock it ever struck just to repair it." Bilbo chuckled a bit.

"Yes, we folk of the Shire can be a bit chatty, especially with a stranger. It will only get worse, I'm afraid. You'll find that among your customers, you will be asked every conceivable question if they get the idea that you are staying. They will then meet up at the Salty Flagon, try while drunk to reconstruct all the information gathered, get half of it wrong, and before long you're the lost heir of Gondor despite being a dwarf. Once that stops being gossip, you'll be part of the Shire." He grinned unrepentantly at the two dwarven faces which wore matching expressions of disbelief. "You'll always be 'the dwarf', though after a few decades you may make it to 'our dwarf'." Thorin's spluttering was almost drowned out by Dis' whoops of laughter.

After a moment, Thorin's shock eased into a somewhat suspect smile. "I'm afraid you've missed the mark with that summary in one regard," he said, taking a bite of casserole and dabbing at his mustache with his napkin. Before Bilbo could defend his statement, Thorin continued with a sardonic look, "I'm already 'Mister Baggins' dwarf', or so everyone from Freddy to the old widow with the cracked cauldron called me. To my face, even." Bilbo's crimson blush made Dis choke on her food from laughter.

"Well, I... that is..." the hobbit finally gave up, laughing along with the dwarves though it took quite a while for his embarrassment to fully recede. Hard to argue with it, he had to admit. He is my dwarf. Remembering his concern of earlier, he was delighted to change the subject. "Since you found Freddy so useful, do you think perhaps he could be taken on as a regular worker? It _would_ give the farmers someone to talk to, and at least he was raised here and knows the customs for what is and isn't an appropriate question." Mostly. He hoped.

Thorin grimaced. "I've only just opened the smithy one day; I hardly think..." He stopped with an odd expression. Bilbo glanced at Dis, who was staring at her food and eating despite the audible thump he had heard; he thought it sounded quite a bit like a hobnailed boot meeting a leg. Thorin looked over at Bilbo with a pained expression and continued. "... I can continue without some form of help. Yes, the boy would make a fine assistant." The hobbit thought it was unbecoming to smirk into one's food as Dis did. He cut his eyes at her in reproach, but she was studiously not looking at anyone.

"Don't agree just because Dis abused you," Bilbo said with disgust, ignoring the patently false innocent look she gave him. Clearly Dis was a graduate of Bofur's acting school, since she was even less believable than the mischievous miner when she was pretending to have nothing to do with whatever had happened. "If it doesn't work, it doesn't work, and I'll find something else. I just... I feel bad for the lad, he needs a hand up at the moment, and he's clearly bright. If not at the forge, I'll find him another way to make a proper living. Having him run about the stable all day and associate with people who are no better than they should be is not the path forward for him, though. Being orphaned shouldn't be the end of the road for someone who is clearly both clever and personable, he's..." The hobbit realized his voice had risen passionately as the other two stopped to look at him, Thorin's eyes shining with pride and Dis nodding to herself. He blushed a bit and said "Well," and took another bite of food. The conversation lulled for a bit, and Bilbo brought out a dessert made of the last of Rhoda's peach bread crumbled into layers of heavy whipped cream and caramel as a trifle. As he placed it on the table, he cast a gimlet eye onto Thorin. "If this doesn't taste right, don't eat it. We don't want any repeats of last time." Thorin reddened and mumbled a reply, ignoring Dis' knowing expression. Thankfully he seemed perfectly able to eat it, presumably since Bilbo had prepared it as part of another dish (who sets these rules, the hobbit wondered). They retired to the parlor with tea for Bilbo and wine for the others. As they sat, Bilbo glanced over and caught Thorin giving him The Look and fancied he gave one of his own back, gauging from the reaction it produced. They had forgotten they were observed, but Dis' bark of laughter reminded them swiftly.

"Yes," Dis said, apropos of nothing, but looking at Thorin. He glanced up and smiled. Bilbo wondered what was going on now.

"You approve, then?" Thorin asked.

"Unreservedly." She turned to look at Bilbo. "For Thorin's courtship to proceed, his nearest relative must agree and be willing to defend the match. I give my blessing. You are by far superior to anyone I can think of. In less than a day, you have shown strength, mercy, fierceness and a kindness of heart few dwarves could muster, but one desperately needed by my brother. Thorin, just imagine if you'd ended up with that awful daughter of Ironlord Vurn?" She said to Thorin, whose expression conveyed clearly his thoughts as to the likelihood of that happening. She turned back to the hobbit. "But enough teasing for now, though Thorin is such a good target. We have other business, Master Baggins. I apologize in advance for all the ceremony and such. Dwarves are a people governed by rituals, you will find. As Regent of the Blue Mountains, first under Thorin and now under King Fili, I name you _Khuzdbaha_. This much at least you would be owed even if my foolish brother had died on his trip here, and it reflects poorly on him that he did not name you such from the throne of Erebor." Ice blue eyes glared across the room, meeting equally angry darker blue ones. "But no matter. By taking this role, there are things you must know." She sighed. "What I tell you now must be kept secret. I know you have heard that a great deal from both of us, but this is more secret than most. Do you swear that this will stay known to you, and you alone, of all those you know now and will know who are not dwarves themselves?" Bilbo was confused; confound these dwarves and their endless secrets! Still, curiosity burned in him. He had always had a weakness for hidden things, so his answer was a foregone conclusion.

"Yes, I swear by the Green Lady who made us, I will keep your secrets." She nodded in satisfaction. "What is this about?"

"I must tell you what it means to be a dwarf so that you know. Every dwarf knows these things, but outsiders... well. As _Khuzdbaha_ , you will know them as well, and become an almost-dwarf, if you catch my meaning." She sighed and sat up straight, drawing herself up. "I venture onto untested rock, I do not know if it will bear my weight." Her last sentence sounded like a ritual declaration, and Thorin responded in the same tone.

"I am here to bear you up." Dis took a deep breath and looked at Bilbo. The sorrow in her pale eyes held him rapt. Thorin's face was closed and he sat like a stone, but his blue eyes were looking far away, full of loss and misery. Bilbo wondered what he was seeing, and hoped that he could take that pain away at least in part. Dis nodded and her voice resumed its formal cadence as she spoke.

"I am supported, so I will speak. Hear me now, Bilbo Baggins, dwarf-friend and savior of Erebor. To be a dwarf is to know constant loss, and yet know hope. This is the essence of our race, known only to us and now to you. First I will speak of loss. When we were made, we were not like the other races; we were only born from Mahal's love of making. He alone shaped us. Our fathers would have gone forth into the world and served him immediately, but we were held back in favor of the elves because the Highest did not wish us to be first. Such was our birth, and such has been our fate in every moment since. We were not supposed to be in this world, and it does not welcome us. This is a sorrow shared by all _Khuzd_ , the loss of belonging. You may have noticed, even in the small time you spent with my kin, we are not truly welcome anywhere in Arda save beneath the stones of the mountains made by our Father. The forests hate us; most animals dislike us; the men fear us; the elves scorn us. You may have wondered why my kin dislikes the elves; we do for the same reason that any stepchild hates the favored firstborn of the house. They receive the best of all things unearned, and we strive to receive even scraps. They are given gift after gift, and we have to work for what little we may get. It has always been this way. Each of the dwarves made by Mahal was placed in a home for his kin; over time, each of these homes were lost, one by one. This is a sorrow shared by all _Khuzd_ , the loss of home. With their loss, we lost the only places made for us in all the world, and ever since as a race, we do not flourish, we do not thrive. We do not have many children, not enough. We fight because we have been forced to fight, and too many fall in battle. Our numbers dwindle. This is a sorrow shared by all _Khuzd_ , the loss of kin. And so our eyes turn backwards to the times we were greater than we were, for we know that we will never flourish in this world." Bilbo thought this was amazing; he had read the Elvish accounts of creation, but nothing of dwarves beyond a few brief mentions. Dis went on. "Of all the Hammer Wielders, who the elves call Valar, Mahal alone loves us. His brothers and sisters view us with suspicion, if not with dislike. We are not welcome in this world of theirs, you see." She made a bitter face, and took a sip of wine as if to wash out the taste of the words she had just spoken. 

"Seven clans of our people made Mahal, and to each he gave a realm. Durin was first, and we are his children, but each clan had their heart-home, made for their use. Of the seven clans of dwarves, the Longbeards of Durin have lost three homes; other clans have lost more or less, but we lost Khazad-Dum, greatest and oldest of all the delvings of my kin. We fled that place and went to the northern mountains to try to find a new home, but lost the city we built after to a cold-drake. In the end, as you know, we lost Erebor to Smaug. Loss of home indeed! Thorin is legend as far away as the Mountains of Bone, simply because he reclaimed one of our homes. The day will come when it will be lost as well, though, if only from lack of numbers to hold it, and we the children of Durin will go again to Khazad-Dum, and it is said that we will have one last flourishing there, as the flame leaps high before it is extinguished. Durin will come one last time to walk with us and teach us the halls he made in the early days, but it will fade. It is there that the embers of our fire will go out, and the bones of the last dwarves will turn to dust amid the ruins of our home before the ending of the world. And after loss, and loss, and loss, so we dwarves shall seem to lose it all at last, and the stars shall go out in deep Kheled-zaram, and the Unquenchable Flame will go out in the heart of Zirak-zigil, and the endless night will fall at last on the tomb of Durin. So it is foretold, and a bitter harvest it would be if it ended there. But now I will speak of hope. For Mahal has promised us another world after this. In the next world, the world to come, Mahal has told us that we will be the ones to build it, so that there will be a home there for the dwarves in truth, and not the grudging acceptance we find here in this one. We will at last be the equals of the Highest's pampered elven children, not subject to their scorn and mockery. So we are a race in waiting."

She sounded so sad and solemn, the hobbit's heart was stirred and he almost wept for the tragedy of a people who had nothing to look forward to but endless suffering before their redemption. Still, Bilbo had many fond memories of the elves of Rivendell (though not so many of Thranduil's folk), so he said "Scorn and mockery seem harsh words. I do not think..." Dis cut him off.

"These are not things for you to agree or disagree with, they simply are. These are the things you must know. I say scorn and mockery, and I mean these words. The elves say we dwarves are greedy, but why did the Noldor ruin the world, save for greed? No dwarves were they, the kin of Feanor. They say we dwarves are suspicious, but the suspicion of the elves of each other and everyone else started every war in the First Age of the earth, and most in the Second, them and their pet humans. It was not the suspicions of dwarves that sealed and hid the gates of Gondolin and Nargothrond, or spun the girdle of Melian. They laugh at us for many reasons, but most of all, they laugh because they know this world was made for them and not for us. Never do they forget it. We know how they feel, and we know why; they are no more to blame for it than a dog trained to bite is to blame for biting, but the wise man does not extend his leg when it is nearby no matter how well he knows the reasons. Above all else, remember this. When a dwarf sees your braid and bead as dwarf-friend, he may challenge you in this wise: What does a dwarf see? The answer you must give him is this: The eyes of dwarves look backwards. Then he will know that you are truly _Khuzdbaha_. It must be said in just those words. Do not let them bait you with Khuzdul, or make a seeming joke of it, for these are serious things. If this dwarf challenges you further, he likely will not wish to be your friend, but there are dwarves who do not like outsiders. And this dwarf will say further: And what do those eyes see? And you shall tell him: A promise of what is to come. And to this there is no answer, and he must accept you. For the promise of Mahal, that we were to be the makers and shapers of the new world, this is the reason we learn our whole lives, and craft, and forge, and make, so that when the time comes to make this new world, it will be as perfect as we may shape it. And now that you know these things, you are _Khuzdbaha_ in truth. The bead and braid merely mark your status, but this knowledge is now yours. You know what cannot be unknown." She stood and came over to where Bilbo sat, motioning for him to stand. When he did, she pressed her forehead to his. "Welcome."

"Lady, I..." tears ran down his face. Bilbo wasn't even sure why he was crying, but it was all just... too much. "Thank you," he whispered. He was suddenly very glad that Thorin hadn't conducted this ritual in Erebor, lest he break down in front of all the assembled dwarves. He felt a soppy old thing, but yet and still it was all just so _sad_ , he thought.

"Brother, he cries for our people," Dis said wonderingly. "He truly is almost a dwarf. Your heart chose better than I ever dared hope." Thorin stood and came over, pressing his forehead to Bilbo's in turn.

"Welcome." He wrapped his arms around the crying hobbit and whispered in his ear, "You do us great honor." Thorin turned to Dis. "I will make him a bead in iron, since it is what I have. Please have me sent some proper iron; the stuff they have in this forge is the worst sort of _prukh_." Bilbo had suspected all along that this was a bad word but her giggle dispelled any lingering doubts. Thorin's eyes focused on the hobbit still in his arms, ignoring his sister's too-knowing gaze. "The bead of your status will be iron, but the bead of our marriage shall be of gold. I have enough..." Dis cleared her throat.

"I will bring you a bead." She looked at Thorin with a wistful expression. "It was _amad_ 's, but now... she would be honored for him to wear it, I suspect." He nodded, leaving Bilbo (yet again) confused as to what was going on.

"Pardon me," he said, "but I find myself at a bit of a loss to know what we are discussing. What do beads have to do with anything?" Dis grinned.

"Beads are how dwarves communicate, Master Baggins. Each bead in a dwarf's hair or beard tells a story, in theory, though in truth some are simply for adornment. Braids are used to communicate all sorts of things, and paired with beads, you can tell simply by looking at another what their profession is, whether they are married, their status and skill level in their profession... all sorts of things. Thorin is making you a bead to mark you as _Khuzdbaha_ , and we are talking about your marriage bead. I have one that belonged to my mother, Queen Dar, and I will bring it for you to wear."

"I am deeply honored," the hobbit responded. "We hobbits don't often wear beads or braids so it might be a bit of a challenge to explain, but if it's what is done I suppose we'll figure out something. But please, Lady Dis, call me Bilbo; there's no need to be so formal, especially given the circumstances." She bowed her head in acceptance. She peeked at him from beneath her brows, and Bilbo suddenly remembered their conversation of earlier. He sighed; drat and confound her, anyway. "Thorin, I suppose I have something to tell you as well. When I went outside to get Dis, I found that my roses had been... damaged and it was Lobelia and Thorin listen to me I absolutely forbid you from causing a scene with her," his words coming in a rush as he felt the arms around him tense. Previously soft breathing near his ear was now harsh. "Really," he said breathlessly, "that's not how we do things here in the Shire. I'll find a way to... well, everyone knows how utterly awful she is, really it won't help either of us to do anything to cause a fuss." Thorin was growling, but staying still. Bilbo thought... hoped... that was a good sign. "It doesn't matter, they'll be fine, it's not like she killed them. Not even Lobelia would do something like _that_. I just can't have them judged, that's..." He stopped abruptly because Thorin had gone ramrod-stiff. "What?"

"Dis. Send to the mountains at once. I need black iron and copper, preferably the copper from the third deep shaft if it still produces. I must go." Dis looked surprised but nodded.

"It does." She said. "I will send a raven now while it's still light enough. Bring them to the smithy, I assume?" With a distracted nod, Thorin was out the door like a shot, leaving the round, green door standing wide open and an utterly bewildered Bilbo staring after him like a fish out of water. Dis slipped past him into the garden, sending an odd whistle out on the breeze as Bilbo stared down the hill. What on earth had just happened?


	9. Chapter 9

Dis returned after a short conversation with a raven. A raven who appeared suspiciously quickly, Bilbo noticed. Did they follow her around, he wondered? Nevertheless, Thorin was still gone when Bilbo went to bed. Given the events of the day, the hobbit had insisted that Dis stay in another of his guest rooms, which of course meant that he had to prepare one. She watched him with bemusement as he ran around and she was very appreciative of his efforts, but try as he might he couldn't get any answer as to where Thorin was other than "Most likely the smithy" and "You'll have to see." The hobbit came close to losing his temper with her evasive non-answers, but he swiftly realized that if Thorin's dragon-volume voice couldn't shout her down, his chances of doing so were fairly low (and that was being optimistic). He also had a sense that he had pushed his luck that day about as far as it would go, so he went to bed dissatisfied.

When he awoke the next morning, he was delighted to see Thorin's boots by the door. At least he had come home (though if anyone had told Bilbo that people would be coming and going from Bag End while he slept he'd have sworn they were mad). Despite having returned, the dwarf left again almost immediately. He stumbled out of his room, fell on the breakfast Bilbo had prepared like he hadn't eaten in weeks, kissed the hobbit on the cheek and fled before Dis ever emerged from her bedroom. She received this news with no surprise, simply nodding without comment and leaving to go tell her guards that she was well. She worried about their reaction when she did not return to the Inn but Bilbo could imagine even dwarves could see that the likelihood of mishap in the Shire was low! Nevertheless, she was quick to be off, leaving Bilbo standing in his kitchen feeling a bit as though a whirlwind had passed through his home. He was just as glad everyone had cleared off, though; that day he needed to cook. Food was running a bit low, and that would never do.

As he stood in the middle of his kitchen, surveying the pantry and trying to figure out what he needed to prepare, he remembered that Freddy was coming for tea. Perhaps raspberry tarts, then, and probably shortbread, he sighed, along with scones and... what? He threw some beef in to simmer long and slow in the back of the warming oven, then set to work. After a few hours, the house remained quiet but the baking had filled the table and he began the process of getting it all put away in appropriate tins and packages. As he put the tarts aside to cool, he realized he was humming to himself. How long had it been since he felt good enough to hum in his own kitchen? There was drama attendant on dwarves being around, and no hobbit could deny that without being a liar, and yet, Bilbo thought. And yet. He went out into the garden, admired the (unharmed) tomatoes and grabbed a few that were at the peak of ripeness, and also picked some yellow squash that seemed properly ripe. His roses looked even worse in the bright light of day; tattered and abused, leaves hanging askew and blossoms cut and trampled into the ground by (presumably) Lobelia's feet (may they go bald and shrink, he thought angrily). Bilbo took the time to get his shears and trim the worst of the damage, but he decided it was probably better to let the plant rest for a few days before doing anything else to it; roses were tetchy creatures at the best of times, and this one had just been through a trauma indeed.

Well after noon, he realized that Thorin had left without any mention of food. Dratted dwarf, he thought, then giggled at himself. Preposterous pet names indeed! He went and prepared a nice sandwich and packed some of the biscuits he had just finished baking and a scone with a dab of persimmon jam in a small covered jar, then set off down the Hill. When he arrived at the forge, the place was closed up tight but he could hear the forge roaring inside and the sound of hammering came through the heavy door. What on earth is wrong with him, Bilbo thought in dismay. It must be insanely hot in there! He knocked but there was no answer.

"He'll likely not hear you," came the laconic call from Piggy, who had just appeared in the door. "Come rollin' down the hill like his trousers were burnin' early this mornin' and shut himself up in there tight as a tick. A few folk been by, see if their work is done, but he's not opened the door a crack since he came. Workin' on somethin' in there furious, though." Piggy gave Bilbo the same infuriatingly knowing look he had during his previous visit to the smithy. "Might open up for you, though."

"Don't be cheeky," was Bilbo's response, though he had to give a wry smile in spite of himself. Piggy laughed and waved, then ducked back inside and Bilbo went back to knocking. A sharp, chemical tang from inside the forge made his nose twitch. After a second round produced no response, he shrugged and hammered on the door like he imagined a dwarf would. Sure enough, the door popped open a crack to reveal a startled Thorin.

" _Mizimel_ , I thought you were the... what are... why are you here?" Thorin's eyes were a bit shifty, but Bilbo knew from the dwarf's behavior the previous night that it would be futile for him to ask to come in.

"I brought you food. You never seem to remember that at some point you might want to eat." Bilbo proferred the lunch basket with an innocent look. "I would also remind you that Freddy is supposed to join us... _both_ of us, mind you... for tea today to discuss his prospects. I intend to offer him the role of your assistant unless you object. You never said last night."

"I... uh... certainly," Thorin's mind was clearly a thousand miles away. "I won't be at tea, but that's fine, tell him start next marketday and we'll see how it goes. I..." He took the basket and set it on some available flat surface inside the door, but Bilbo knew that in no way indicated that the dwarf would remember it in five minutes based on the way he was acting. He arched an exasperated eyebrow at the distracted dwarf in front of him.

"I expect you to eat that food. Be told: if you bring me that basket back with anything still in it but dishes I will be very upset, Thorin Oakenshield. Work on whatever you're doing, but do it on a full stomach!" The hobbit huffed a disgusted breath. "I can tell already that you would be horrible company at tea, so I suppose I can handle that myself. If I have your blessing to offer him the job then I will do so. Dis may be back, though who knows what time. Please come home for dinner." His exasperation was starting to show, though he tried not to let it, but he still couldn't resist adding, "I worry about you." At the blank stare he was still getting, Bilbo felt laughter bubbling up. Might as well laugh as cry, he thought, shaking his head. "Food, Thorin. Eat it."

"I... yes... food. Thank you. I'm just..." and with that, the door was closed. Bilbo didn't even think that Thorin had realized he did it. I do love him, he reminded himself. I do. Throttling someone you love is strictly not allowed, not even by dwarves, certainly not by hobbits. Green Lady of the Trees, I hope that basket comes home in one piece, and with my dishes still in it. Shaking his head again at the ridiculousness of it all, he headed home. Dis still hadn't returned as he began preparing the tea tray for Freddy's visit. When a knock came at the door, Bilbo worried that perhaps the boy was early. Of all days to be early, he thought while grimacing. When he opened the door, already smiling, he was stunned to see Fortinbras smiling back.

"Why, cousin, you look as though you were expecting someone! Who might it be, hmm?" Fortinbras' hastily fluttered lashes looked so ridiculous Bilbo laughed in spite of himself, causing the other hobbit to laugh as well. Ever the dandy, the Thain was wearing a particularly magnificent green velvet waistcoat around his chubby middle and in spite of himself Bilbo felt a moment of envy. "But seriously, Bilbo, surely I'm not arriving at the wrong time again? I was hoping you would stop by the Great Smial or send a message, but..." a melodramatic sigh made his opinion clear. Drat the fellow, Bilbo thought. He only showed up at the worst moments, Dis was due back any moment and Freddy was on his way as well! A sudden thought occurred to him, causing him to beam as Fortinbras continued, "eventually I couldn't wait any longer and I simply had to come by. I'm dying of curiosity, I'm not too proud to admit it. Word in town is that 'your' dwarf has opened the smithy, and was in some sort of kerfuffle with another dwarf, who showed up unexpectedly? And as part of a whole troupe of dwarves? Cousin, you are the last hobbit I expected to suddenly develop a taste for fancies, but I suppose the Took is late blooming. You simply must..." Bilbo cut him off, though still with a smile.

"Fortinbras, I apologize from the depths of my heart to have denied your curiosity. I am actually expecting a guest for tea, but," hoping he didn't regret this, "please come in, I can offer you a cup as well and some of these lovely jam tarts I just made." He stepped aside and Fortinbras stepped in, keen eyes darting around the room and (Bilbo knew) missing absolutely nothing. "I did have a question for you, though, so it's a spot of luck that you came by."

"Oh?" A raised eyebrow was the response. "News for news, then? Such is my life, it seems. What is your question? Oh how delightful," he said as he stepped into the parlor and Bilbo provided him a plate with a few of the small tarts and a cup of fresh Northfarthing tea. "But then," he said mock-sternly, gazing with considerable force at Bilbo, "you will tell me about this collection of dwarves you seem to be accumulating."

"Collection? Good heavens, you make it all sound so complicated," Bilbo dissembled. "Nothing so planned, I'm afraid. But my question is this, and I have to ask it before the faunt in question arrives. What is the reason for Fredegund Deepleaf being abandoned to the role of stableboy at the inn? He's a bright young thing, seems to be of good character, and he's been of great help to Thorin at the smithy. Has he no family, nobody to take an interest? It makes no sense." Fortinbras looked away, seeming a bit abashed, and took a bite of one of the tarts to give himself a moment.

"Ah," he said after a sip of tea. "Well, that's a bit awkward, and no mistake. His father was Erlegund Deepleaf." Despite the Thain's meaningful look, Bilbo was lost. He was about to say so when Fortinbras continued, "and his mother was Rosalind Hornblower." Oh, Bilbo thought. Well, that explains that. He remembered now. A bit more than a decade past, Rosalind had run off at the unheard-of age of twenty with the local madman, known to all and sundry as 'Early', without so much as a vow being exchanged or a flower being presented. Her family had disowned her, his family had long since disowned him, and as if all that weren't enough, he was past sixty and she was a young slip of a thing. It was the scandal of the entire Marish, and to scandalize the Marish required something quite a bit more than any other community in the Shire. The Hornblowers were a bit wild in their cups to be sure, but nothing to support such frankly shocking behavior from one of their young maidens. "That being said..."

"Yes, yes," Bilbo waved his hand wishing he could just banish all the scandal away, "but surely with them dead, the scandal died with them? Fossy, he's just a _faunt_ ," he realized after he said it he used that dratted nickname again, but he pressed on, "it's hardly fair for him to be penalized for something two people did before he was even born. Why, uh... why _did_ they die?" He asked in concern, "The boy said something about bad air, but..."

Fortinbras looked away, mouth twisted. "We don't know. The official story is that it was illness. Truly, they might have eaten the Green Lady knows what from the marshes or maybe Early really was being stalked by a grue, he spent enough time talking about them. The boy was found in his room, safely asleep, and the two of them dead as stumps in the front room with the fire gone cold. Early was mad, as you know; he really was. I remember seeing him one night coming home from Bywater, far away from his home in the Marish, and he was raving off his head, talking about bugbears and collywobbles and grindylows and I don't know what else, voices from the waters and the hills...! I've never heard such a farrago of nonsense, and as Thain, I've been told some whoppers! I suppose people just... preferred to forget." The Thain had the grace to look embarrassed. "Perhaps it isn't fair, but what can you do? I suppose nobody wanted to risk him growing up cracked like his father... or mother, for that matter, because anyone who'd run off that young with an old lunatic couldn't be described as exactly sane. They had a bad reputation and came to a bad end, so who's to step in and look after a child of such a union?"

Bilbo didn't think twice. "I shall," he said, and was almost surprised to hear himself say it. He knew it was the correct decision though. "I can't sit by and let that poor child end up as a stablehand because people can't look past his parentage. It's not often I'm ashamed of the folk in Hobbiton, but I'm feeling that way now. Judging someone for poor behavior is one thing, but passing that judgment along to their children who weren't even born yet is another thing entirely. I'll see to it the boy gets a job and education if I have to, and find him somewhere to live that doesn't involve disreputable sorts like the riffraff that work in an inn's stables. And you're going to help me do it," he concluded with a smile, relishing Fortinbras' astonished spluttering.

"Me? What have I to do with anything? If you wish to take in a ward it's no business of mine, but..."

"But you're going to talk it up as a good thing, and you're going to smooth any feathers which turn out to be ruffled as well as let anyone who makes trouble know discreetly to shove off," Bilbo grinned, "and you're going to have a truly magnificent time doing it, because any Took would. My mother would rise from her grave for a chance to cause that much chaos." Fortinbras' shocked reply was cut short by a knock at the door. "And that, I suspect, is the young man himself. I'll be back in a moment," he twinkled the Thain's favorite mischievous smile back at him where he sat in stunned silence, and went to the door. This time it truly was Freddy, whose wet hair and carefully groomed feet showed that he had made an effort to clean himself up despite his somewhat ragged clothes. "Come in, Freddy, I was just chatting with my cousin. You know Fortinbras, surely?" Freddy's eyes were perfect circles as he stared at the Thain.

"Cor! I... I mean... Fredegund Deepleaf, at your service, your Thainship, sir," he bowed and stayed down so long Bilbo worried he'd gotten a cramp. Fortinbras' face was a picture of conflicting urges, clearly not willing to be charmed but coming close to it nonetheless.

"Very good, Freddy, no need for all that," Bilbo said. "Here, have some tea, and some of these tarts if you'd like; I made them just this morning. Please, have a seat. How was your day?" Poor Freddy was out of his depth and sinking fast; Bilbo feared his eyes were about to roll in different directions. He threw him a conversational lifeline. "Did you get everything taken care of at the inn?"

"Yes, sir," came the tiny reply as the faunt hunched even smaller around his teacup. The poor child was too terrified to even touch his tarts, set appealingly on the plate. Bilbo could see that it was at that precise moment that Fossy's heart snapped in two. Hazel eyes turned sad beneath chestnut curls, and clearly the Thain had just realized there was a person attached to the idea he had of 'that orphan boy'. Good, Bilbo thought. Now you know.

"Excellent, excellent," Bilbo said heartily. "I hope that my cousin will excuse me for doing so, but I fear I must talk business for a moment. Freddy, you were such a tremendous help to Thorin we'd like to offer you the job of his assistant at the forge. You wouldn't work the forge, of course... at least not at first, but Thorin needs someone to protect him from the farmers and goodwives of the Shire. They would talk him to death and he'd have no time to work the metal at all! You seem to have a real knack for dealing with them, and you must have noticed that Thorin does not," and Bilbo was pleased to see the compliment return a modicum of courage to the overwhelmed faunt.

"Ee, it's kind of you to say so," the boy replied, voice a bit stronger but still quavering. "I liked the work, but only, I'm a bit worried because I can't stay at the Dragon 'less I'm workin' there, so Bill said, an' he's the master of it, y'know. I can't afford..." the boy's voice trailed off miserably and Fortinbras' voice cut off Bilbo's response.

"Nonsense, my boy, we can find you a better place to stay, that's easy enough," the Thain said, ignoring Freddy's gaping expression. "I know a family who would be willing to let you a room and I will pay the rent myself. No reason for you to be stuck at the inn when you have new and better duties! I'm sure the new smith will want you closer to his smithy. Besides, I suspect that my cousin has plans to improve your education as well, if I know Bilbo."

"I do indeed, you're far too bright to be wasted on mucking out stables." Freddy was looking in astonishment from Bilbo to Fortinbras and back again, mouth hanging open.

"I... but... I..." and with that, the faunt set his cup down carefully and burst into tears. "Why?" he sobbed. "Why?" He hid has face in his hands, and Bilbo met Fortinbras' eyes helplessly across the shaking mop of black curls.

"Shh," Bilbo sat next to him and patted him awkwardly on the back. "There, there. Why? Because it's not right, Freddy, and I can do something to help, and I rather feel I must. There's no need to cry." Freddy sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve, but tears still poured down his cheeks.

"Consider this an apology of sorts from the Shire, or at least the Tookish part of it," Fortinbras said soberly. "Bilbo is quite right, it wasn't proper at all that nobody helped you, and it shames me to think of it. We will get you moved somewhere more appropriate to someone of your age, and Bilbo will tend to the rest. If you need help with anything, you come to him, and if he's not about, find me or send for me and I'll sort it out myself." Bilbo nodded.

"Indeed," he said, "Freddy, my heart broke when you told me about your parents. I'm quite a bit older than you, but my parents are both dead as well. I was a bit older then than you are now, but even at that I felt like my world had shattered like glass. I can't imagine what it must have been like for you. Nobody should have to face that alone, and I don't want you to feel alone with it any more." This was a bit deeper into emotions than would be discussed in any proper social setting, but Bilbo couldn't help himself. Fortinbras was looking at him with a surprised look, and he knew he would have to deal with that at some point too, but not right now. "So please let me help, alright?" The response was an armful of faunt as the boy leaned over and hugged him, making Bilbo unexpectedly teary-eyed as well. Even the Thain looked suspiciously moist around the eyes.

Freddy was still crying, tears soaking into Bilbo's coat. "Thank you, sir," he whimpered. "I don't want to be any trouble, I'm tryin' to be good, I really am," and Bilbo couldn't take any more.

"You are quite blameless in this," he said sharply, "and I'll not hear a word from anyone who claims otherwise. Whatever may have gone on in the past," Bilbo shared another look with Fortinbras over the faunt's head, "it's nothing to do with you, and if anyone says otherwise you come tell me about it and I'll sort it out. Or you could tell... well, you could tell Fortinbras and he can handle it. I would ask that you don't tell Thorin, he's likely to kill someone and that would be awkward." The faunt giggled, which was Bilbo's intention, though he wasn't entirely sure he was joking himself. "But we're going to give you a proper education and a proper profession, and I expect you to tell me if anything doesn't suit you. Alright?" Freddy gave a half-sob but nodded bravely. "Right, then. That's settled. Eat your tarts." Bilbo wondered just what had gotten into him. He had only meant to offer the boy a job, and now he was practically taking him on as a ward... apparently having Thorin around had made him positively dwarvish in his hasty decision making. Thorin... how he was going to explain this turn of events to the surly and suspicious dwarf was going to be a pretty puzzle, to say the least. Freddy nodded and gamely bit into a tart, which quickly vanished as food tended to do around faunts his age. Without a word he refilled the plate with some of the shortbread which also disappeared in short order.

"Well, I should be running along," Fortinbras said. "I'll just nip over to the Greenfields and have a quick word about that room." He cut his eyes at Bilbo.

"Have some more tarts, Freddy," Bilbo said immediately. "I'll just walk Fos... Fortinbras out and I'll be right back. Feel free to pour some more tea if you wish, just mind the lid." They stepped out into the hallway, and the Thain stepped quickly over to the door and through it, then pulled Bilbo through by the wrist.

"How I let you get me into these things, I will never understand," he hissed, though Bilbo could tell he was trying and failing to be angry. Nevertheless, he was having none of it.

"Because it's the right thing to do and you know it. Don't give me any grief about it, you saw that poor little thing! Tell me he deserves to be trapped in a stable for the rest of his life because of something that two dead people did? You can't, and rightly not!" As he looked down the hill behind Fortinbras, he saw Dis coming up the lane.

"Don't think I don't know that you had that timed perfectly, too! You're just trying to avoid answering my questions about..." Bilbo interrupted just as Dis walked up.

"Cousin Fortinbras, Thain of the Shire, may I present Dis, daughter of Thrain, ruler of the Blue Mountain settlement of dwarves?" The Thain whirled, taken completely aback, and Bilbo got to see the hilarious sight of his cousin trying to regain his footing in a social situation. Dis inclined her head, smiling despite a bit of suspicion in her eyes.

"At your service," came her warm tenor. "I am actually regent for my son King Fili of Erebor, but close enough."

Fortinbras gaped for a moment, then pulled himself together. "Fortinbras Took, Thain of the Shire, at yours and your family's. And what brings you down from the mountains? Good things, I hope. Welcome to the Shire, as I seem to tell so many guests of Bilbo's." The feathers of that verbal arrow still sticking out of his ribcage, Bilbo sighed and let Fortinbras have the point. He _had_ rather set the poor thing up earlier, after all.

"Family matters," came Dis' smiling deflection. "Master Baggins is a friend to dwarves, as we all know, and it would be a shame to pass by without stopping to speak. What brings the Thain all the way from the Great Smial of Tuckborough to visit the house of Baggins?" Bilbo could have been knocked over by a breeze; he had no idea Dis knew anything about the Shire, let alone that much. Fortinbras looked a bit taken aback as well.

"Well, he's my cousin, and I stopped by to... say hello, pass the time of day, catch up with family," he smiled his famous twinkling smile, looking so much like a naughty child that Bilbo could barely resist rolling his eyes. Dis gave him a look that spoke volumes as to how unimpressed she was.

"It is always important to stay in touch with family. Who else will care for us? I had wondered if perhaps Master Baggins had contacted you about the crime that was committed." Bilbo gaped at her, trying to resist the first words that sprang to his lips. Confound her, why would she...? Fortinbras was already turning to him.

"Crime?"

"Ah. Well. Crime is over-egging the pudding by more than a bit. Bit of petty vandalism, that sort of thing." Bilbo glared at Dis, who blithely ignored the look, but Fortinbras missed none of it.

"Master Baggins' prize rosebush was mutilated by someone. I'm shocked; I hadn't thought the Shire to be a place for such actions. Is this such a lawless land, then?" The Thain stared at Bilbo now, and it was obvious he knew exactly what was being said. Rosebushes indeed, Bilbo thought. As if that wasn't a giant sign pointing due Lobelia.

"Only the rosebush? The day after you registered to be judged in the Fair?" Fortinbras said, mouth twisting wryly. "How amazingly unfortunate." His eyes suddenly looked a thousand years old.

"Wasn't it?" Bilbo said in disgust. Blast and confusticate Dis and her meddling. "Well, I've left Freddy sitting by himself, so I must go. Dis, if you'd be so kind, please join us for tea, unless you have other plans. Fortinbras, lovely to see you as always. Thank you so much for your help and understanding. Please excuse me," and with that he went turned back to his door, giving Dis one last glare for good measure (not that she had the decency to even look abashed). He had a faunt to send off with food, and neither Lobelia, his rosebush, his meddling soon-to-be sister-in-law nor his gossipy cousin the Thain were going to interrupt that. He was going to make sure Freddy was brought up as a proper hobbit, and for proper hobbits, food came first. With a deep and heartfelt sigh, he went back inside.


	10. Chapter 10

Bilbo did his best not to stomp back into his smial, but it was a close thing. Too much time around dwarves, indeed! Meddling, wretched Dis and her dragging things out in front of the one hobbit who Bilbo didn't want to know about Lobelia's hateful actions. He would settle her in his own time, but the last thing he needed was some sort of public spectacle. People already thought little enough of him as it was, what with the adventure and the dwarves and the rumors everyone thought he didn't hear of his 'mountains of gold' that he brought back; any new scandal, even one where he was a victim, might be the droplet that broke the dam. The thought of scandal made him remember poor Freddy, who was still waiting in the parlor. For what seemed the thousandth time that day, Bilbo felt a sudden urge to throw up his hands and just run away from all of it. Lobelia or no Lobelia, he was in the middle of yet another social drama with Freddy thanks to his own mouth and his sense of fairness. Still, so be it, he thought. I can't leave a child to suffer, no matter how inconvenient I might find it socially. Nodding to himself, he went back in the parlor and smiled at the nervous little figure perched on the chair with his feet swinging. "Terribly sorry about that, Freddy; Fortinbras was leaving, and Lady Dis arrived, who I'm sure you remember, and it took longer than I had expected."

"Sir..." The child's face was twisted in a very adult expression of worry. "You don't have to make a fuss over me, sir, I didn't..." Bilbo's glare brought his words to a halt, though he looked even more worried.

"That is quite enough of that, young man. You have been treated quite poorly by the community through no fault of your own, and I'll do as I please to remedy that." Bilbo went and sat back down next to him, looking down. The poor thing was trembling, he realized. Softening his voice, he said "Unless, of course, you'd prefer to stay in the Green Dragon's stables. If so, I won't be offended, I promise... you only need say so. I don't want to force you into anything, Freddy, and I know this must be overwhelming. You haven't had an easy time of it, bless you, even before... well, before your parents' passing. But I will promise you this; if you need something, you need only come to me. I will help if I can, because I think you have a great deal to offer the world, and I want to help you make the most of your life. It is your life, though... I cannot stress that enough. I have no desire to be one of those overbearing people who tries to run everything for you, so if you desire to do something else, merely say the word. Alright?" A cap of black curls nodded, but he could tell from the expression on the faunt's face that trust would take time. Hardly surprising, he thought. Not as though anyone has shown much kindness to the poor thing, I'd be suspicious myself!

"I..." Freddy's voice was hesitant. "I think I'd like to work at the smithy, sir. I had a good time of it last market-day. And isn't your dwarf a funny sort, if you don't mind me saying so? He's all hard and grumbly on the outside, but he was kind to me. I think he's a bit of alright." The faunt's hopeful smile left Bilbo uncertain as to whether Freddy was telling him what he thought he wanted to hear, or whether he actually meant it, but it was at least a vote of confidence in Bilbo's plan.

"That's very kind of you to say, Freddy. It can be hard for people to see past the exterior on others, good for you that you've learned that already. Well, if you're keen to do it, then I see no problem. Thorin found you quite helpful as well. How about two silver pennies a week," he knew this was what a full adult shop worker would earn, but the look on the boy's face was worth it. Then he delivered the second part. "...but only if you come for lessons for the days that you aren't at market. Schooling makes the hobbit, or should." Freddy looked a bit doubtful at this, but nodded hesitantly. Bilbo didn't imagine Early or Rosalind were much on schooling, given their... hmm, 'complicated' lives. He considered it a stroke of luck that she had even bothered to teach the child his letters and sums. "Now, on to another topic," Bilbo said with a stern look. "Are you eating enough? Tell me the truth."

Freddy looked down, twisting his hands together. "Yes, sir," he said softly. It was as good as a shouted denial. Bilbo eyed the bony shoulders and nodded once.

"You aren't and your face tells on you, my lad. I thought as much; the Inn has no more care or concern for the needs of a growing young faunt than do the ponies whose muck you've been shoveling. You'll take meals here as and when you want, and if it isn't mealtime and you're hungry, you're still to stop by and I will feed you as you need. I'll not have a hungry faunt on my conscience." Bilbo sighed. "Now Fossy... drat, I mean Fortinbras, is arranging for you to stay over by the Greenfields', and they will likely feed you at least one meal and likely more. But if something goes amiss, or you just come over peckish, I expect to see you at my door, do you understand?" A bashful grin and nod was his reward. "Very good. Now, I expect you to stay for dinner, unless perhaps you have other plans?" The giggle answered that question as Dis came in the parlor and stopped.

"Young Master... Deepleaf, was it? Lovely to see you again," Dis said as Bilbo stood to welcome her. At his look, Freddy jumped up and stood as well. Dis beamed down at him. "And what have you made today?" At his look of incomprehension, she looked at Bilbo.

"Freddy has graciously accepted the job of helping Thorin in the smithy," Bilbo said, stepping adroitly into the hole in the conversation. "He will be the one to interact with all the local hobbits who come to have work done, find out what they want, keep the orders written up, that sort of thing... and that will allow Thorin to actually do some work, since my fellow hobbits would likely talk him half to death given the chance." She nodded, giving this due consideration.

"A wise choice, though a great responsibility for such a young person. Master Baggins has great faith in you, it seems. See that you treasure it." Freddy nodded, looking a bit overawed. Bilbo presented her with a cup of tea, and she smiled graciously and accepted it. "When I asked what you had made, I forgot for a moment that you weren't a dwarf child. That is our standard question to any young one. Making things is what we do, and how we determine what our skills are. My own two sons are almost eighty," Bilbo noted Freddy's goggle of amazement and made a mental note to explain dwarven lifespans, "but even at your age Fili was always showing me some knife or blade he had forged and Kili was learning to cut stones. I still have his first beryl somewhere." She rummaged in a purse at her belt and pulled out a shining green sphere about an inch across, cut in tiny faceted planes that accentuated the stone nicely. She passed it to Freddy who took it like it was the Arkenstone, falling into rapt contemplation of the shining depths of the jewel. Looking at Bilbo, she glowed with maternal pride. "It's trash as a stone, of course, but I'll always treasure it because it was his first finished project and he gifted it to me."

"It's perfectly lovely," Bilbo replied. "Value isn't only money; it is a gorgeous stone, and well done. I would say that I see your pride in him is well placed... if I didn't know that already from traveling with him."

"Spoken like a true dwarf, Master Baggins! We'll get a beard on you yet." She replied, and gave a tremendous laugh at the expression on Freddy's face when he looked up at Bilbo with shock and horror. Still chuckling, she said "Just a figure of speech, Master Deepleaf, no need to look so horrified."

"Freddy may well develop a beard," Bilbo said, deciding on the spur of the moment that a little teasing might not go amiss to relax the boy. "There are three clans of Hobbits, or were I should say, when we came across the Brandywine all those many years ago. All a bit mixed and mingled now, to be sure. Still, the Fallohides were forest-living, and you see them mainly in Tuckborough and Buckland. The Harfoots, such as my own family of Baggins, preferred to live in smials such as this one and live in the central hills of the Shire. No beards among us, to be sure. But the Stoors, now, such as dwell in the Marish where young Freddy is from, well, they are the only ones to grow beards. So perhaps..."

"I maun't do it!" came the indignant reply in a broad Marish accent. Both Dis and Bilbo laughed aloud at Freddy's face, brows drawn down and eyes a bit horrified, mouth a worried line. He realized he was being teased at this point, and sat back with a huff of disgust (and a bit of relief, it must be said). Bilbo thought that at least the faunt did look a bit more relaxed, so that was something. The older hobbit gave him the last tart as an apology, and Freddy bit into it decisively, as though it were to blame for his being teased.

"I took Thorin some food today," Bilbo said to Dis. "He was sealed up in the forge so tightly I'm surprised he hadn't nailed the door shut. I could barely get him to open the door to..."

"He opened the door for you?" Dis interrupted. She was giving him a look comprised half of horror and half of incredulity. Bilbo fought the urge to groan and hide his face. What now?

"Yes, well, I knocked to bring him food and..." She shook her head grimly.

"No, Master Baggins, if he is doing what I think he's doing you had no business near that forge. I apologize for leaving; had I known there was something that needed taking to him, I'd have stayed and gone myself or sent a guard." Seeing his look of consternation, she sighed. "As I told you, we tend to be a somewhat hidebound and superstitious lot, and not all things are meant for all eyes at all times. I promise you I'm not trying to be difficult, but I really can't say any more at the moment. You will understand at some point." She looked down, then back up. "Did he take the food?" At Bilbo's nod, she grinned in relief. "Good. Normally he'd be fine, but he went far too long without eating to be going on long fasts now."

Just the thought of Thorin not eating made Bilbo furious. As if Thorin hadn't had trouble enough in the past few years for a lifetime, now he needed to go looking for it? "Fasts? We don't fast in Hobbiton, I'll have you know. The very idea! What a ridiculous thing to say! If he refuses my food, I'll have some words to say about it, you can be sure of that!" Freddy's eyes were round as saucers, and Bilbo remembered belatedly that they had a small and somewhat importunate audience. "That is to say... Thorin is far too thin as it is... as is this faunt here," he said, dismissing his earlier emotion by waving at the boy. "He's staying for dinner, though, so I'm going to do my best to make sure he gets food in him. Isn't that right, Freddy?" Dis took the hint, and the rest of the time in the parlor was filled with pleasant conversational nothings. By the time Thorin stumbled in the door and went to wash, Bilbo had begun cooking the squash he had picked and arranging a three course meal with shortbread and jam for dessert. After they ate, Freddy got an escort back to the Inn by Dis, who had to give some instructions to her bodyguards. Bilbo had no idea if she was returning or not, but prepared her room again just in case. Thorin had barely spoken a word and stood to go to bed when Bilbo stopped him.

"Thorin, what are you doing?" His voice wasn't as strong as he'd liked, but Bilbo was determined to get some answers.

It took the dwarf a moment to focus on him. "What? What do you mean? I'm going to bed." Thorin still looked distracted, as he had all evening; he had a thousand yard stare that Bilbo had last seen inside a mountain with a room full of gold, and the hobbit didn't like it one bit.

"The last time I saw you this distracted was when... well, all that with the gold. Dis said you might not be eating again. What's going on?" Thorin's attention suddenly snapped onto the hobbit in front of him, and Bilbo thought it was as though a pane of frosted glass had been withdrawn. Suddenly, the dwarf he knew was standing there in place of this empty shell of a stranger who'd been wandering around for two days.

"Not eating? I'm eating, I ate dinner! I'm just... working on something, it's taking a lot of my attention." Thorin had that shifty look again that Bilbo had seen at the forge, but at least he was looking at the hobbit as though he actually saw him.

"And where is my basket?" Bilbo asked softly. Thorin flushed and looked as though he wanted to be angry, but couldn't quite muster it up. Just as well; Bilbo was concerned, but if Thorin wanted a shouting row, right at the moment that didn't feel unachievable. "Thorin, what is going on? Is it me? Have I done..." Strong arms wrapped around him and Thorin's lips were on his as they were still moving. Damn him, Bilbo had time to think, before all thought fled. It was utterly preposterous that anyone could be so good at kissing. There was just a hint of sweetness in it, some remaining tiny bit of jam in the fine, dark hairs of his moustache, perhaps, but Bilbo thought he could feel his heart about to explode in his chest. Even as thin as he was, Thorin still had more muscles than anyone had any right to have, and the hobbit could feel them all radiating a heat not unlike the forge through both sets of clothes. He was suddenly overwhelmingly aware of what it might be like to be naked with Thorin, and at that thought he gave a soft moan into the dwarf's mouth that made the arms tighten even more. He could feel something pressing into his belly... something very large indeed by hobbit standards. Oh my, he thought. Oh, my. The sound of the door opening was like cold water down his back as Dis returned, and her tenor cut through the room like a knife.

"Durin's Beard, is this what goes on when I leave? Master Baggins," and Bilbo didn't think anyone but Lobelia could put so much scorn into a spoken name, "I thought you trustworthy when you assured me my brother was behaving honorably. Are hobbit definitions of that word so different from ours, then?" Thorin growled but leaped back, hunching over to hide his small... well, Bilbo thought, honestly, his very large and prominent problem. If not for his somewhat long and baggy waistcoat, he would be having similar issues himself, though hardly of such... prominence.

"We were merely saying goodnight," Thorin grumbled, though he couldn't meet Dis' eyes and looked as guilty as a faunt with both hands in the cookie tin. Her snicker of disbelief was expected, but Thorin hunched a bit more and sulked his way to his room, taking care to shut the door in as close to a slam as possible without bringing Bilbo's ire. When her pale eyes turned to the hobbit, he met her disapproving gaze with one of his own.

"There is nothing inappropriate about a kiss. We were fully clothed, and in private. Take your disapproving looks somewhere else; if you don't feel this house to be respectable enough, I'm sure you remember your way to the Inn." Dis' quiet snort of amusement didn't obscure the censure in her expression.

"Master Bag..." At his look, she changed her address. "Bilbo, I don't think you realize the stress that Thorin is under. Not being a dwarf, you wouldn't." She spoke in a quiet voice, presumably to keep her words from penetrating the door to Thorin's room. Bilbo went into the kitchen, and Dis walked with him, slouching into a seat at the table. "Now that he is near you, he can eat again and the cloud is gone from his mind. So much, so good. Still, being with you is likely driving him mad with the _ma'rikh_. I am not sure how to explain it; I wouldn't speak of it at all, but you need to understand this before something, er... happens. Imagine, if you will, being trapped beneath the surface of the water, and seeing the air above you, just beyond your reach. Imagine being starving, and seeing a feast just in the other room. Imagine dying of thirst in a desert place, and seeing a jug of cool water. This is how the beloved appears to a dwarf feeling the _ma'rikh_. Every time he touches you, there is the chance that he will lose control. It can be dangerous, though Thorin has always been stubborn as black diorite. Has he said anything of the sort?" She was smiling, but Bilbo suddenly felt awful. He had loved those moments, but Thorin was suffering?

"He..." he tried to pull his thoughts together, though they were scattered like frightened birds after the kiss followed by the shock of this news. "I suppose he made comments about testing his willpower, but... I never imagined that..." Her bitter laugh told him he'd been a fool.

"I'm surprised he said that much. Thorin always was one to suffer in silence... as I'm sure you're more aware than ever." Her look was full of irony. "Something to watch once you're married, if I may be so bold as to advise you. The first you'll hear of a problem is when it's grown large as Erebor and about to fall on the whole world. He's ever been so." She sighed deeply, running her fingers along the table grain. "He broke his finger once, and the first anyone knew of it was two days later when it swelled to the point it looked like a sausage. Didn't even tell Dwalin, just kept on at arms practice. And stubborn? Father could beat him until his arms fell off and Thorin would just give him that stiff-necked look, bow and leave, even if he was limping. Always the perfect little prince, my brother." Beat him until... Bilbo could have fallen into the stove. Thorin had made a comment when he first arrived that his childhood was difficult but he had never imagined that it involved terrible beatings! His mouth was in motion before his mind could properly engage.

"That sounds perfectly horrible. Why would your father beat him so severely? No wonder he's always so driven and miserable! I have to say, I don't think much of dwarven child rearing, if..." Dis cut him off.

"It was nothing of the dwarves, and normally you and I would have words for you to have said so, but I will forgive the implication under the circumstances. I tell you these things because you are his intended, not for you to judge him, or us." She took a deep breath and held it for a moment, then blew it out, bracing herself against her memories. "My grandfather was... not himself. All dwarves must follow the mandates of the king. What the king commands, we do. There is no discussion, no argument. Do you understand?" Her ice-blue eyes were fierce, but Bilbo could see a sorrow in them as deep as the sea itself. He staggered over and sank into another chair, faint with horror. He knew the stories of Thror's madness, but... oh. Oh Thorin. A grim vision rose before his mind's eye, a boy mistreated by his own father at the orders of a mad old king that no-one dared disobey, not even his own son. Being judged and weighed by the eyes of greed and madness, the crushing pressure of never being good enough, strong enough, smart enough, brave enough... never enough to be king. Then to lose the mountain, then his grandfather and brother, then father...

"How is he still sane?" he heard himself whisper. "Lady of Trees, who could endure such things?" Dis nodded, eyes glistening.

"Now you see. He is stronger than anyone else I know. I would never tell him that, but I say it now to you. He has lived through things that would destroy the mind of others, and it has made him stronger, purer, more himself. He was forged in the fire, and the iron of his soul has become steel." She sighed, and slumped lower in her chair. "I love my brother; that I am here at all says that clearly. I never thought to find him alive, let alone loved. He has led a harsh life, and that life has left scars far deeper than the battle wounds that mark his body. My brother has borne several sorrows beyond those of our race, those which you know already. The sorrow of his childhood. The sorrow of loss, first of our mother, then Erebor itself. We lost Frerin our brother in my grandfather's mad war for Khazad-Dum, and my father lost the best part of his wits then as well. Thorin was the nail that kept us all together; if he had broken, I shudder to think what would have become of Durin's Folk. I cannot begin to describe to you the flight as refugees. We were mocked, shunned, and robbed, where we weren't simply attacked on sight. Most of us fled the mountain with nothing but the clothes on our backs. When we came through the Shire, your people were the only folk we found who were kind to us. It is for that reason that we trade with you still, and for that reason that it is even possible for Thorin to take you openly as his beloved. Dwarves are not fond of other races, but the Longbeards of Durin will always think well of the hobbits of the Shire for the kindness you showed us when we needed it most and had it least." She looked away, ice blue eyes staring into the past.

Without even thinking of it, Bilbo reached out and pressed her hand. He had grown up hearing tales of the shabby dwarves and how they had showed up one day out of nowhere. It hadn't occurred to him to put two and two together, but now he felt embarrassed on behalf of his great grandparents' generation who had seen these folk appear. "I'm so sorry," he said softly. "My folk probably weren't as nice as we ought to have been. We didn't know that you had been through such hardships... we don't see much tragedy in the Shire."

She gave a tiny, bitter laugh. "You have no idea how blessed you are here. Of course they didn't know. We would never have told you of our troubles, were we bleeding out at your feet. We knew that nobody else cared, and we were headed for the mountains our histories told us had held the cities of the Broadbeams and Firebeards before the wrath of the Hammer Wielders shattered the world. But against all expectation your people gave us food, let us work for our keep, stay and nursemaid our strength... it was a great gift." Bilbo could not conceive of being so bad off that simply not being abused was counted a gift. His mind refused it, somehow. Dis continued speaking. "The dams stayed here with their children, such as we had that had survived, and the miners and soldiers went to the mountains. Thorin led them. We found iron and copper, and caves that had once been a mine of our folk, and so we moved there. We never found the ruins of the old cities, but still we thrived. Our city is smaller now but strong and stable; better yet, Erebor is returned to us, and so many have returned to the mountain thanks to you and Thorin. Through it all, he has been the hub of the wheel, the linchpin, the keystone of our people. I tell you this so that you know, but also to say this: thank you, Bilbo Baggins, from the bottom of my heart. My brother has never gotten anything from life but the toe of a boot. He has struggled and strived and given of himself with no reward being asked or given. For you to love him and find him worthy is a gift greater than the emeralds of Girion. I don't know how or why, but it means a great deal to me that you care about him, and I would lift the Blue Mountains on my back if it would bring him such happiness. Thank you from the depths of my heart." She pressed his hand in return, and Bilbo felt tears spring into his eyes at the sheer injustice of it all. He didn't feel like a blessing to anyone, but he couldn't leave such a statement unanswered.

"Lady..." he murmured. "I don't know why your brother cares for me. I am only a hobbit, and one of little reputation or skill other than a knack for getting himself into trouble. What I will tell you is this. When Gandalf dragged me into his schemes, I had absolutely no intention of leaving my home. Even when I saw your brother, though I was half-smitten with him from the first moment I saw him, I had no intention of going to Bree, let alone halfway across Arda to face terrible dangers with a ragtag group of dwarves." She gave a brief, scandalized giggle and he echoed it. "Even so... Before we had even passed the Misty Mountains, I had fallen for him so hard I knew I was in trouble. By the time the dragon was threatening me from his pile of gold, it was a pair of blue eyes that made me want to stay alive. I have loved your brother for years with no thought of him even noticing me... to find out that he feels the same is a gift for me, not for him. Nevertheless I must tell you: Thorin was... not kind to me on that trip." The hobbit's face was closed. Dis took a deep breath as if to speak, but subsided as Bilbo looked at her, meeting her eyes with his own calm hazel gaze. "I knew he was afraid. I thought it was fear for our travels, fear that we... that I... was unworthy. A lot of what was said and done was... unpleasant. On the trip, and even more after the dragon was dead, before the war. Even so, that's all in the past. He and I have made our peace over all that happened between us that wasn't pleasant, and I only tell you this as you told me his history, because you should know from me that these things were done. More importantly, you should know that they are all forgiven. I don't want someone carrying tales and then it all gets dredged up again when he and I are past it. You understand." Her sober nod was the reaction he had hoped for; so much for dwarven gossip. "Now, that being said... any guidance you can give me would be appreciated. Thorin and I talked about how hobbits and dwarves court, and the two peoples couldn't be more different, I'm afraid. I know there are things I'm missing, but I feel like everyone is expecting me to say or do something, and I have no idea what it is. The only reason Thorin is working in the smithy is because I foolishly set it to him as a courtship challenge since he said that was a requirement. He..." He stopped speaking because Dis had dropped her head into her hands, shoulders shaking. He thought at first she was crying and felt a moment of shock wondering what he had done before he realized she was laughing. Presumably her head was down so she wouldn't make enough noise to draw Thorin back out of his room.

"You... you made... courting challenge... oh... oh! Bilbo Baggins, you are without a doubt the gift of Mahal to my brother." Dis was crying from suppressed laughter, tears running down her cheeks into her beard, face contorted with the effort of not guffawing loud enough to bow the windows out. Just as he was beginning to suspect he was being mocked, she finally calmed enough to speak clearly. "Oh by Mahal's beard, Bilbo, my brother worked as a smith for all sorts of people during our flight from Erebor. He was abused, robbed, and mocked while doing it. He swore an oath that he would never work the forge again when he founded Shahrulbizad where we lived."

Bilbo had the sinking realization that he had forced Thorin to forswear himself with his ill-considered plan. No wonder he had lost sleep at the prospect! "I am so terribly sorry, I had no idea." She waved that away quickly.

"Sorry? It's the best gift you could have given him!" Dis' eyes were shining like she had just won a prize. "When I heard he was at the smithy, I thought he had given up his honor because he had surrendered to death. But by forcing him to do it as a term of courtship, there was no honor lost! I don't think you understand what you've done, so I will explain it. If Thorin were anyone other than a prince of the line of Durin, he would have been a master-smith, and likely an Ironlord by now with a huge foundry of his own and dozens working for him. He has been a smith since he was a tiny pebble, long before I was even born; it is the craft that spoke to him the deepest of all. Even his early pieces spoke of a rare skill, but he had to lead - there was no time to follow the call of his heart to the forge when the throne demanded all of him. Even so, he loves iron and steel, and they love him. He needs them. For him to come to hate smithing because of how he was treated... it was a piece of his soul that was missing. And what do you do? Within the first week of courting him, you drive him back to the thing he needed the most! You are truly his _azyungel_ , his heart-mate. Any lingering doubt I had is gone."

Bilbo wasn't sure how to feel about this. "I didn't mean to... I mean..."

Dis' gaze was shockingly frank as she looked at him across the table. "The first conversation we had about you, he said you were his greatest treasure. Now I see why. I will be of whatever assistance I may, within the bounds of custom and propriety." She glanced down, hands worrying at the table again as they did when she was uncomfortable. "Though I bend those bounds with this question, I fear. Still, I must know. If I made it possible... would you wed Thorin as dwarves wed?"

"I..." This was not a question Bilbo had ever imagined being asked. As he had told Thorin during their first discussions, he knew there was no marriage in his future, so it was never something he thought about. "What would that involve?" He finally asked. She gave a snort of amusement.

"Cautious as ever, I see. Nothing too terrible. You would go before a _shahathur_ to set the terms of your union and draw up the contracts; that step is far simpler with Thorin being simply a smith and not king of Erebor. There is a period of formal meditation and preparation, called _adal_. There would be a ceremony with an exchange of beads, as we mentioned earlier. That would mark you as _mashahnen_ , fully wed, and show your pledge to each other. It is not so very complicated. Do your people truly do none of these things?"

"No," Bilbo sighed, "we do not. Our ceremonies are more celebrations than rituals, though we have some customs to be sure. Two men do not usually marry here, so there is no formality as such, just the setting up of a household with love. Love is what matters most." He still couldn't believe such a love could have come to him, when it came to that, but Dis was smiling.

"Even so. Without love, there is no house at all. It is this way with us as well, though any two dwarves may marry if they are beloved of each other. I ask you again: would you do this, if it were possible?" She asked the question in a light tone, but he knew enough about dwarves now to know that this was a very serious question indeed. He gave it due consideration, seeing no reason to deny it, and finally nodded.

"Yes," he said, noting the way Dis' breath escaped her in relief though she tried to hide it. "It would doubtless mean a lot to Thorin, and I want to give him as many causes for joy as I can. You and I are alike in that." The look they shared was warm, and Bilbo wondered if it would have been like this to have a sister when he was growing up. "But I thought there were all sorts of steps to dwarven courtship. Thorin made it all sound so complicated."

"It can be," she replied with a twinkle in her eyes. "But all that needs to happen is that a gift needs to be offered and accepted, and a betrothal needs to be announced. Everything else is decoration, but those are the roots of the thing. Thorin would never tell you that, because he is a romantic under all that sour gruffness, but it is so nonetheless."

"Isn't he just," was Bilbo's response, which brought a delighted giggle from Dis. "He gave me a gift before, so that part is taken care of." She gave him a look of incomprehension.

"He gave you... already? May I see it?" Bilbo nodded and went to his room. When he came back with a bundle of cloth, she looked even more puzzled. When he unrolled it and pulled out the mithril-coat that Thorin had given him in Erebor, she was obviously flabbergasted.

"He... gave you... Bilbo, this could buy this entire land, and half the ruins of Fornost! He brought this with him from Erebor? Mahal's glowing anvil, I've never seen so much mithril in my life!" Buy the whole Shire? Good heavens, Bilbo thought in amazement.

"No, he gave me this when we were... well, in Erebor." Comprehension dawned on her face, warring with amazement.

"Ah," she said, face still shocked. "Clearly it never occurred to him that you might leave. Nevertheless, he didn't make this, so it's not technically a proper courting gift. It is an astonishing thing even so. Any doubt you might harbor as to his feelings when you were together before should be put to rest, though. This is no common token of gold, nor even a gift to a close companion. This is a dwarf's whole heart, handed to you to keep. If my brother had half the words to express what his hands were saying, or were you just dwarf enough to read the signs, you would never have left and you would have been Consort in Erebor, mark my words." With that, she stood. "I think that is enough from me for one night. Guard that and keep it well, my soon-to-be brother. It honors me to have seen it." With that, she retired to her room, leaving a puzzled and confounded hobbit to sit and finger the woven silvery rings on the mail shirt in the flickering light of the oil lamp.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the compliments and comments and kudos and just being you! I love you all! <3

The next few days passed so quickly and uneventfully Bilbo was a bit shocked. It was nice, but quite a break from the previous week's nonstop revelations and disturbances. He and Thorin fell into a routine, which was a comfort, though they were constantly being watched when together by the omnipresent Dis. Despite the monitoring, Thorin might as well have still been in Erebor for all the attention Bilbo received. He was making an effort to be less physically affectionate with Thorin now that he knew about the longing, but it didn't seem the dwarf even noticed; he spent all his time either in his smithy or in his own head, presumably designing whatever it was. The hobbit barely got a word from him when he was home, which was rarely. 

To balance out the frustration with barely-there Thorin, Freddy turned out to be a joy, and as Bilbo began working with him to see where he was in his studies the boy surprised him. While he was hardly a scholar, his grasp of mathematics was sound and his reading was more than Bilbo had ever dared hope... in truth it was better than some adults Bilbo could name, he thought sourly. The Greenfields were properly horrified after Bilbo had a quiet word with them about how Freddy had been treated, and they were lavishing attention on him (and much-needed food as well). Dis was a constant and surprisingly calming presence. While she and Bilbo didn't have any more late night heartfelt talks, the hobbit felt a closeness to her that made him wish that he himself had had a sister. Ered Luin dwarves came into town a few days after Dis' letter with a cartload of metal ingots, which vanished into the locked smithy immediately. Bilbo would never have known of it if Freddy hadn't mentioned it, though the faunt immediately clapped his hand to his mouth and ran away. Bilbo's suspicions were fully aroused, but despite his discreet questioning, it was as though the incident had never occurred. Dis made some vague comment about Thorin remarking on the poor quality of the local iron, but that combined with her expression were enough to tell Bilbo that he would get nothing else. He found it especially odd that Thorin didn't open for the midweek market day, though the smith still paid Freddy a full wage; when pressed he informed Bilbo that the forge was his business and that Freddy had been very helpful, but once again no more information was forthcoming. Bilbo even went so far as to ask Piggy what was going on, but the stablemaster's blank look was a true masterpiece. Whether it was honest or not was beyond Bilbo's ability to determine.

Despite Bilbo's curiosity, the days slipped past. The day before the Fair was a bit unusual. Thorin had come home strangely early, looking as though he was exhausted. He barely spoke; once he had washed he went straight to his room and slept for several hours. He then went and closeted himself with Dis for an hour, which was a new thing; usually he avoided his sister when he was home, as she had a knack for getting under his skin. As usual, all questions were met with blank looks and protestations of total ignorance. This state of affairs was something the master of Bag End found utterly unacceptable in his own smial, but there he was. Dinner that night was a bit of a slapdash affair since he had spent the night before in the garden, trimming all the damaged areas off the roses, tidying and weeding and generally getting it ready for his tomatoes to be judged. Despite what had happened to the roses, he had high hopes for his produce. Freddy had stayed after his lessons, and was eagerly awaiting the vegetable beef stew Bilbo had prepared.

That night as he put dinner on the table Bilbo mentioned the coming celebration to Dis. "Tomorrow is, of course, the Shire Fair. Thorin has heard about it, but Dis, I don't believe you have. I would be honored to have you come along as well; it's a good time. We..." His invitation was interrupted by Freddy.

"You have to come, Lady Dis! It's the best fun ever! There's food and games and dancing and parties and food and..." When he realized everyone at the table was staring at him, he stopped and ducked his head. "S'ry."

"Ahem," Bilbo cleared his throat with a wry glance at the faunt, who seemed to be about to vibrate his chair to bits in excitement. "As Freddy so helpfully pointed out, it is a combination of a celebration and a contest for the farmers and gardeners and cooks of the Shire to show off their talents. Fortinbras, who you have all met, is the Chief Judge by virtue of his role as Thain. He always names two yearly judges per category for each Farthing, and their names are kept secret until the morning of the Fair during the ceremony that kicks the whole thing off. Here in Westfarthing, it's done just down the road at the Party Tree. The judging is done by Farthing, and each Farthing has its own judges so nobody has to travel the length and breadth of the Shire during the Fair except poor Fortinbras. This is his busiest time as Thain, and the poor fellow will be run ragged in five days when the whole thing winds down. I try to always go to the naming, just to find out if I have a chance in the contest... if the judges don't like you, you might have a bit of trouble that year as one might imagine." He chuckled, but the humor seemed lost on the dwarves, who were deep in thought gauging by their expressions. "But, the judging aside, it's a good time and it occupies the whole Shire for several days. Since both Tuckborough and Hobbiton are in the West Farthing, we kick things off so our judging is tomorrow. You're certainly welcome to come with me tomorrow morning, but please be aware that the judges will be coming by at some point to see the tomatoes and the rest of the garden. If I seem a bit distracted and nervous, pay me no mind! And Freddy, if you're hungry, as always let me know and I will fix you something... hungry faunts come before even the Fair." He smiled, but Freddy was having none of it.

"You'll win, sir, I know it. I don't rightly know what happened to your roses, but I has my suspicions, sir! I can go ruin a rosebush too, if you want." Dis looked as proud at the idea as if Freddy was her child, but Bilbo was appalled. Did _everyone_ know about the situation with Lobelia? And the absolute last thing he wanted was Freddy to think that such behavior was acceptable! He sent a stern look down the table to where the faunt was sitting, face a picture of irritated mischief.

"Freddy, you'll do no such thing! That's a dreadful idea! Just because some people act no better than they should is no excuse for everyone else to do the same! Why, we'd be no better than orcs before long!" Thorin's grunt and sidelong look at Dis was met by an identical look in return. Clearly the dwarves had different ideas about what was appropriate, Bilbo thought. He wondered if Freddy had help in thinking this 'solution' up. "And there'll be no midnight runs from this house by any dwarves, either. I told you, I'll settle this my own way, and in my own time." A chorus of sighs was all the response he got, but that was good enough, he supposed. He went back to the kitchen to fetch the blackberry crumble and clove sauce and heard muttering when he left the room.

As he was setting the plates out for each of his guests, Thorin rumbled " _Mizimel_ , I have something for you." He looked over at the dwarf, wondering if this was what all the fuss was about, but Thorin pulled out a bead. Bilbo had never seen workmanship like that in something so small; tiny images scrolled around it, and it was clearly a work of art, all done in iron. "This is your bead marking you as _Khuzdbaha_ , if you will accept it. As we said before, the knowledge and title are yours, this is just an outward marker for others to see."

"I... Thorin, it's amazing! Of course I accept." He examined the bead and it was made in two panels, above and below. The top panel was a dragon, twisting all the way around the bead; the detail work was amazing, with the wings and head looking exactly as Bilbo remembered Smaug. The lower panel was dwarves flanking a word in the runes of Daeron, though he couldn't read it. The whole thing was a triumph of craftsmanship. Clearly Dis hadn't exaggerated Thorin's skill at the forge! Remembering the discussion about braids and thinking of his own blondish curls, Bilbo wasn't sure how this was going to work. "How does this process work? My hair is fine and curly, hardly easy to braid."

"I will do it," came the deep reply, even as Dis cast a warning look down the table at her brother. Thorin stood up and went over to the hobbit's chair, taking a bit of Bilbo's hair and sectioning it into three strands. With a quick over-and-under motion, he braided a short braid and attached the bead. It left an unfamiliar weight pressing against the side of his head in front of his ear. Bilbo had to admit, it had been a long time since someone else had touched his hair, and Thorin's fingers were as gentle in it as if he were a treasure in truth, not just in name. Those fingers lingered, toying for a second or two with the soft curls before withdrawing. There was something romantic about the process, he had to admit, though in truth he had never thought of hair as one thing or another in respect to courting. He wondered idly if it was permitted to take the bead out and examine it occasionally; it would be a shame not to be able to admire such craft. Freddy's eyes were huge as he stared at the goings-on, clearly unsure what to make of them. Not unsure enough to stop his bottomless appetite, though, Bilbo thought with a sigh; the empty plate in front of the faunt testified to that. "There," Thorin said, though his voice was a bit thick, "now all know that you are dwarf-friend and high in our councils. At last you have part of your rightful place."

Dis smiled, though her eyes were still watchful on her brother. "Welcome once again, Bilbo Baggins. Few are those in these times who can claim such a title, but it is no less than you deserve. Your efforts on behalf of our people are known across the length and breadth of the world." Freddy couldn't contain himself any longer.

"Mister Bilbo, sir, what did you do, if you don't mind me asking? And if you can tell me, I s'pose, but... Are you like a dwarf now? How did you help... and how are you famous? And..." Bilbo laughed deprecatingly to cut off the questions and shook his head at the faunt's mystification.

"I went on an adventure, Freddy my lad, despite all the warnings not to do so. I will tell you the story sometime. In the end, though, I helped the dwarves get their home back from a dragon, and they were pleased with my help, so they gave me the title of dwarf-friend." Thorin gave a short barking laugh that mingled exasperation and disbelief at what he clearly considered to be an inadequate answer.

"Bilbo is a hero, and don't let him convince you otherwise," he told Freddy, blue eyes glowing when he looked at the embarrassed hobbit at the head of the table. "And yes, he is like a dwarf in some ways; with this bead he is marked to all dwarves as a friend and not an outsider. Bilbo Baggins saved our whole party many times, and his wit and quick thinking were the only reasons we got to the mountain at all, let alone managed to defeat the dragon and win back our kingdom. I will tell you the story myself, to make sure that our hobbit here doesn't make himself sound too unimportant." He grinned at Bilbo, who scoffed and looked away. 

Bilbo reached into his pocket and rubbed the thin strips of fabric inside for luck. "Since we're giving presents," Bilbo said quickly before he could change his mind. For a moment he wished his mother were alive to see it. He had hoped to do this without Freddy around, but that wasn't going to be an option it seemed so he pressed on. "In the Shire, couples who are walking out together wear ribbons to show that they are courting. It's not a requirement but..." he glanced shyly over at Thorin, who looked poleaxed, "I would be pleased to have you wear my ribbon if you will do so."

"I... would be more than honored," Thorin whispered. Freddy whooped in delight, and Dis shushed him, though her grin was so wide that her words could barely be understood. Bilbo reached into his pocket and pulled out the ribbons, smiling as he passed one to Thorin. The dwarf's face was half-hidden behind the dark curtain of his hair when he said "Will you braid it in?" The smith's face was a bit flushed and he sounded somewhat breathless, but Bilbo moved forward.

" _Idribith, nadad_!" Dis said sternly, causing Thorin to jump back guiltily. "That's quite enough of that, I should think. I'm sorry, Master Baggins." After all this, are we really back to 'Master Baggins' now, Bilbo wondered? "My brother is being inappropriate, taking advantage of your ignorance of our customs. He will braid the ribbon into his _own_ hair tomorrow." Her face was unyielding, and Thorin's downcast face made Bilbo wonder just what was being said in dwarven culture by such a thing. He remembered that Thorin had made comments before about touching his hair being inappropriate, and... wait, if marriage involved exchanging beads and beads were worn in hair, then... oh. Oh!

Hoping his interpretation was correct, Bilbo looked over at Thorin. With an affectionate look he said "The time will come when I will braid something into your hair, but that time is not tonight." Dis' triumphant smile and knowing nod were eclipsed by the rush of crimson that flooded Thorin's face. Bilbo assumed from this reaction that his interpretation was correct. Freddy had clearly given up trying to understand what was going on, which was a blessing. He was playing some game of his own devising with the silverware, leaving the grown ups to their incomprehensible conversation, though he cast an occasional glance around to see what was going on. When it seemed that the current discussion was done, Bilbo cleared the table and it was time for Freddy to return to the Greenfields' down the lane. As he was leaving, he turned to Bilbo with a very serious expression on his face.

"Good thing he's wearing your ribbon," he said very solemnly. "Everyone should be shown he's yours, sir, it's only right." And with that, he nodded in a very adult fashion, said "Good night!" and left a stunned Bilbo standing in the door of Bag End with his mouth hanging open.

=

The next morning dawned bright and clear, an excellent omen for the Fair. Bilbo was up when the sky was merely grey, preparing food for everyone to eat during the course of a day where regular meals would be impossible. A selection of things were set out for nibbling 'as and when', as Bilbo's mother used to say. He also set up the kitchen for pain perdu, cracking eggs into a bowl of milk and whisking in spices and sugar next to a stack of thick slices of bread. Bustling around the kitchen, he almost stumbled when Thorin came through the door with Bilbo's ribbon prominently worked into his right braid. Bilbo felt his throat close up at the sight, and his barely whispered "Good morning" got The Look from Thorin, making his toes tingle. Still flustered, he managed to set a pot of tea out and then dredged a slice of bread into the egg and milk mixture in a bowl and put it in a skillet to brown. Turning to Thorin again, he asked "Will you be accompanying me to the announcement of the judges this morning?"

"I cannot," Thorin said. "I have something I must do, but after that I will be yours for the day." Smiling in a way that Bilbo thought must be illegal, he continued "I am yours every day, truth be told."

"Thorin!" he scolded, feeling himself flushing. "If you say things like that at breakfast, I'll burn the toast, and then we'll all be left hungry!" He glanced into the skillet and flipped the bread, blushing even more strongly as he cut his eyes at the dwarf seated at the kitchen table and said "The feeling is mutual, you know."

" _Mizimel_..." Thorin said, but broke off when Dis strode into the kitchen, looking between them as though they were up to no good.

"Good morning to the both of you," came Dis' clear tenor, cutting through the sudden tension in the kitchen. "I see we're all up and ready for a day of good fun." The belligerent look that accompanied this showed that either she doubted it, or (equally likely, Bilbo thought) she hoped that 'good fun' might include a pitched battle to welcome the morning sun. Thorin mumbled something incomprehensible and was suddenly fascinated with putting precisely the right amount of honey in his tea. Now that he was done with his mysterious project, Bilbo noticed that Thorin had reverted back to the awkward, uncertain dwarf that had appeared at his door several weeks ago. He wondered if that was something to do with the longing Dis had described, but there was no way to know. Enough of that, he chided himself. No need to go looking for problems when the day might have a surfeit of them already. Imagine if you get named a judge! The thought of that stopped him dead in his tracks, then he shook his head at Dis' inquisitive look and fetched the moist, browned bread out of the skillet to be replaced with another thick slice. He topped it with fruit conserves and set the plate in front of Dis, going back to the skillet to fix one for Thorin.

"This is amazing," she said, mumbling through a mouthful of food. "If you feed Thorin like this every day, he'll be the size of Bombur." That got Thorin's attention, and he threw the spoon at her. The siblings' squabbling made Bilbo roll his eyes, but at least it was becoming familiar. A whispered conversation as soon as Bilbo left to get dressed roused his suspicions yet again. After he had packed a small basket of breads and nibbles to go with them, Dis was stuck to his side like glue during the walk to the Fairground. Soon enough they were on their way to the opening ceremonies. When they arrived, the Party Tree was festooned with crepe and everyone seemed to be in a festive mood. Smiling hobbits swirled in clumps around the open meadow in the early morning light, and as always a stand had been erected on one side to give Fortinbras and the judges somewhere to stand. Bilbo greeted the Gamgees warmly and introduced them to Dis, forgetting that they had all already met. The resultant teasing left him quite flustered by the time Fortinbras arrived, though the crowd was getting louder and more restive as the morning brightened and the sun got warmer. Finally a familiar head of chestnut colored curls was spotted bobbing along through the crowd, and when he stepped up on the stage, Bilbo sighed. Today's waistcoat was a flamboyant shade of crimson, and it was truly magnificent. Combined with his dark blue velvet frock coat, he was every inch the Thain. Bilbo heard several other sighs from nearby, presumably for the clothes (though Bilbo wouldn't put it past his cousin to have admirers - a fast tongue was admired in the Shire, and a Thain was a catch to be sure).

"Good morning, gentlehobbits! And guests," he said, directing his twinkling smile at Dis and causing many in the crowd to crane around to see her. "I welcome you all to the Westfarthing day for the Shire Fair! It is a glorious day, and soon to be even more glorious as we get to experience the best the Shire has to offer!" Chuckling arose from the crowd at this; just about everyone wanted to be a judge when the food tasting was announced. "I see you have all outdone yourselves in decorations this year, and indeed..." Bilbo sighed. Fossy could drone on all day, he grumbled to himself; apparently some hobbits were born politicians. As the speech rambled on and on, Dis kept glancing at Bilbo to see his expression, presumably to take her cue from him, but he was as bored as he could be. Suddenly he heard something about the judges and he snapped back to attention as Fortinbras said, "but the question you've all had for weeks will now be answered. The judges that have been selected are as follows: for cooked food... Amegdaline Chubb and Rosemary Boffin." Loud cheering from the crowd. Good choices, Bilbo thought. Both solid cooks, and both have won in past years, gives the new blood a bit less competition. After a pause, Fortinbras continued, "For animals... Gaffer Proudfoot and Stormy Freeleaf." More cheering resulted, though there was some muttering, wondering if Iris had managed to pay him off just to get old Gaffer Proudfoot out of the running for pigs. Bilbo knew better. The chances of Fossy doing anything for her other than give her a wide berth were slim to none. But now the category he cared about was next. When Fortinbras announced the names, he could have fallen over in shock. "For flowers, gardens, and produce... Griselda Hornblower and Lobelia Sackville-Baggins." Bilbo had just taken a bite of almond roll and he coughed violently, causing Dis to glare at him.

"Is that not the hobbit that..." she began, but he flailed his hand at her desperately for silence. Hobbits had big ears, as his father would say, and Fossy was far from the only nosy person in the Shire.

" _Ha_!" came a woman's brassy voice from behind them. "Whatever Lobelia did to Fortinbras, I bet she regrets it now!" Whooping laughter from a whole group came after, and the crowd buzzed with muffled snickers and cheer as Fortinbras cast a smiling eye over the assembly. Dis' eyes barely moved, but Bilbo knew she had heard it. He would have explained, but it would have involved him releasing the absolute lock he was maintaining on his face and comportment (against all odds) not to start laughing and rolling on the ground like a faunt. Lobelia and Griselda both arrived at the steps to the stage at the same moment, but Griselda slipped past to go first, cutting Lobelia dead on the spot without a glance and receiving a glare in return that, had she seen it, might very well have given Dis the battle she was hoping for. Bilbo was surprised the back of Griselda's dress wasn't smoldering from it. Today Lobelia's outfit was a glowing peach color, and the matching hat sitting on her long, dark curls was so large it was practically an item of furniture. As before, she had matching tiny flowers (these looked like roses) in her foot-fur. Griselda's dress was much less expensive, but still of good cut, but anyone looking at her cheerful face would know she was of a quite different temperament than Lobelia... except, clearly, when certain people were involved.

"I don't understand." Dis said softly, voice pitched for his ears alone. "She is the one who committed the offense, yet she is rewarded with being a judge? This seems deeply unjust, yet you do not look upset in the least. You hobbits are strange creatures at times." Her scowl of confusion was fierce, amplified by the crystal and gold beads in her beard. A small faunt looked at her with worry, backing up against his mother and clutching at her hand. When she noticed Dis tried to smile at him comfortingly, but upon being looked at the tiny child squeaked in fear and darted away behind his mother's dress.

Bilbo finally trusted himself enough to speak, though his voice sounded a bit breathy and squeaky from resisting the urge to laugh. "It's because you don't live here. Judges can't compete, you see. It seems Fossy took a stand after all. The punishment for trying to cheat to win is being quite cleverly forbidden to compete today. Lobelia is too proud to pass up the chance to be a judge, even though it means that instead of showing her own roses she has to spend the day looking at everyone else's flowers and pick a winner. But I promise you that she didn't know who the other judge was, or she'd have never agreed to it." He laughed as quietly as he could, suddenly overwhelmed with the humor of it all. When Bilbo was able to control himself again (though snorts and snickers were still audible in the crowd as Fortinbras continued talking), he whispered "But there's more to it than that; quite a bit more, in fact. Fossy truly is my new favorite cousin. Griselda _hates_ Lobelia; always has. They've done enough to each other over the years to start a war in most places. Griselda's one of the few that will go head to head with her, and a Hornblower in a rage would make even a Bree-man think twice. So despite being a judge, Lobelia doesn't get to compete and she has to spend all day with someone who detests her utterly, and who doesn't hesitate to say so. The chances she will get her way in anything are effectively nil and Griselda will make her life a walking hell all day. I am so glad I came," he whispered gleefully. "Even if I don't win a single prize, I won this morning."

"Hmm," was Dis' response, looking disbelieving. "If you say so."

"You'll see. Oh look, they're posting the list; let's go see when they'll be over by us." He bustled forward and Dis walked alongside him, fighting the press like a bodyguard. When they got to the list and finally reached the front of the scrum, Bilbo brightened even further. "Last? Oh Fossy, I owe you something grand. Truly."

"You want to be judged last? That makes no sense! Why would you..." Dis looked utterly confounded, but Bilbo laughed. Not for the first time, he realized how confusing this must all seem to an outsider.

"Last is usually the time when the judges are tired, but it's also the one that they see just before the judging. If you have something good, it's a perfect place for it. My roses may be out, but those tomatoes may very well win something if they're the last ones seen. I'm content." He smiled over at her. "Let's go back to Bag End. They'll be along early in the afternoon, likely enough, then we can all come back here for the food and dancing." She looked dubious, but nodded. It didn't take long for Bilbo to realize that his goal of getting back to Bag End quickly was a foolish one. The Gamgees were just the first of a long line of friends, casual friends, acquaintances, casual acquaintances, and some hobbits Bilbo had barely exchanged three words with stopping him for a 'hello' and a hardly-subtle chance to ogle his guest. Several people made inquiries about his new braid and bead, and Bilbo was certain word of that particular decoration would be all over the Shire by dinner time. Dis, for her part, was aggressively chatty, so much so that Bilbo more than once looked at her wondering where this version of Thorin's sister had been in the previous week. She had been friendly since their first encounters, of course, and quite straightforward; nevertheless this new talkative, amiable persona made Bilbo eye her more than once as he tried to disengage from the crowd and return home and she continued exchanging casual persiflage long after Bilbo would have managed his escape. The judges had long since departed on their rounds by the time Dis and Bilbo fought their way free of the group of curious hobbits and made their way back to the Hill and Bag End.

When he walked up to the gate, he was met by Thorin wearing a broad but nervous smile. Bilbo's ribbon was still prominently displayed in his braid, making the hobbit's breath catch all over again in happiness. The dwarf held the gate open. Curious, Bilbo thought. When he entered, wondering what was going on, he saw a new addition to the garden. Beside the heavily trimmed rosebush that had been damaged was a new one, a rosebush forged of iron and other metals. The leaves were washed with darkened copper and glowed in the sunlight; flowers were blooming on it in shining silver in every stage of development from barely unfurling buds to almost-blown roses, about to drop petals. He walked over to it in a daze and stared at it, utterly amazed. The stems were perfect replicas of rose stems, complete with thorns. Thickening as they descended the plant, at the base there seemed to be a square armature of some sort holding it in place hidden beneath a thin layer of dirt and leaves, but Bilbo would have been utterly unsurprised to find roots forged onto the plant as well. The leaves were jagged-edged and looked like they might cut, but at a touch were revealed to be carefully shaped to not harm the hand. Only the coolness and the color told Bilbo he wasn't touching a real plant, along with the lingering tang of chemicals he had last smelled at the forge door. "Thorin..." he said in astonishment, but found that he couldn't continue. Upon closer examination the blossoms looked so perfect it was as though Thorin had managed to transform a living rose into metal. The tiny striations in the petals were flawless. The only indication that it wasn't a grown rose was the absence of stamen and pistil, having only a hammer-tooled sphere inside. Bilbo realized with a shock that the flowers were steel, not silver as he had thought. How on earth...? One one leaf, low on the plant, a tiny iridescent beetle was resting, looking so real Bilbo nudged it with a fingernail to make sure it was part of the casting. "Thorin, how...?" He wanted to look at his dwarf (and never before had he been so absolute in his determination that this dwarf should be his) but he couldn't look away from the masterpiece of metalcraft before him.

Thorin stepped forward, and Dis was watching closely. He looked awfully formal, hands clasped before himself and drawing himself upright, and Bilbo's quick, somewhat grudging glance over at him turned into the hobbit's full attention. "Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo Baggins of the Shire, I Thorin son of Thrain offer you this gift as a token of courting. It is the work of my own hands, and the best I can make. Will you accept it?" A motion behind Thorin made Bilbo glance at Dis, who was rapt at the scene. He felt an overwhelming urge to cry, though he felt silly to do so.

"I..." he said, then sniffled a bit. Thorin was clearly a bundle of nerves, and Bilbo wanted nothing so much as to hug him right now. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Thorin, I accept this, and you, gladly, but it's too much. I can't, you shouldn't, I mean this is so beautiful I can't imagine... I..." He was crying properly now. The dwarf in front of him looked like a puppet with cut strings from the sudden release of tension, but Dis was smiling like she had just been given the world for free. The hobbit couldn't take it any more, flinging himself forward to wrap Thorin in his arms and propriety be damned. "So beautiful," he sobbed, "so beautiful." Thorin wrapped his arms around Bilbo, sighing into his hair and ignoring Dis' very pointed throat clearing.

"These are roses that will never fade, _azyungel_ , _ghivashel_ , _mizimel_ ," came the baritone murmur in Bilbo's ear. "But they are not one tenth as beautiful as you." The hobbit wanted to protest, really he did, but right now, for this moment, simply being held was enough.


	12. Chapter 12

Although the embrace seemed to last a long time, it was likely only a few moments before Dis' aggressive throat clearing became obtrusive enough to separate Bilbo and Thorin. Bilbo was still both a bit weepy and feeling overwhelmed, so giving up the comfort of his dwarf's embrace was not his favorite idea at the moment, but the self-proclaimed chaperone wouldn't be denied. Thorin wasn't the only one giving Dis a foul look this time, though she took no more notice of the hobbit's ill temper than she did her brother's. With an arched eyebrow, she made no reference to what she had interrupted but asked instead, "Is the garden fully prepared for the judges to arrive?" Bilbo immediately remembered that the Fair judges were coming. How could he have forgotten? With one last longing glance at Thorin he sprang into motion.

The dwarves watched in bemusement as Bilbo ran around frantically, picking up stray leaves, arranging edges on mulched beds and generally tidying the garden from its usual state of 'nice and orderly' to 'showpiece'. He gave a stern look at the tomato patch, but no new weeds had sprung up overnight to mock him. "Is there anything we...?" Dis began, but Bilbo's peremptory wave stopped her midsentence.

"No time. Do it myself," was all the response she got. Within minutes, a few minor points of disorder had been addressed and Bilbo was back staring at the sculpture. In truth, Thorin had made a bit of a mess installing it, but he couldn't bear to move it. Kneeling, the hobbit piled leaves and mulch around the base to cover the armature and decided that it had to stay. Win or lose, he wasn't done seeing it there. This was a memory he would cherish for the rest of his life, and he bloody well wanted to remember it properly. Once that was done he stood and looked around. The tree hadn't made any messes overnight, the lines were clean and together on all the plantings and flowerbeds, the borders were as clean as if he had traced them with a straightedge and the garden was glowing in the midday light. He noticed a new spot on the bench where the paint had scaled and sighed, but there was no time to fix it now. Yes, he thought. Like it or not, this garden was as ready as it could be for evaluation. Eyeing the sun, the hobbit figured there couldn't be too much more time before the judges arrived... a small, petty part of him couldn't wait to see how Lobelia looked after a day in the company of her "dear friend" Griselda. While he was looking around, Dis put her hand on his arm.

"Go inside and eat," she said. "We will keep watch." He opened his mouth to protest and paused; she was right, though it pained him to admit it. Sighing and nodding, he went inside and wolfed down some of the roasted cauliflower salad and cold chicken that he had set out. Fixing plates for Dis and Thorin, he took them outside only to see the judges beginning their trek up the Hill. He groaned and set the plates carefully back inside, then darted out just as they came around the gate. All three looked quite warm and a bit disheveled.

"Good afternoon," he called merrily, as though they had arrived at a party. Fortinbras smiled, but Griselda gave him an expression that could only charitably be described as pleasant and Lobelia scowled. Before any of the others could say a word, she spoke up.

"Mm. Good enough, I suppose, considering how beastly hot it is, and that we've walked all over Hobbiton and half of Bywater today," she said, sounding quite put-upon. The two dwarves were standing out of the way of the judges, over beside the bench. Thorin's face could have frozen the Brandywine, but Dis (who Bilbo remembered hadn't had the pleasure of meeting Lobelia before) wore a look composed of equal parts determined pleasantness and disbelief. Griselda rolled her eyes dramatically.

"Oh, here we go again," she said in a disgusted tone. "Lobelia, one day you will manage to be pleasant to someone if only by accident, and it might be the day I die, because I vow the shock might just carry me away." Fortinbras snorted and the look the other two judges received from beneath the enormous peach-colored hat was furious enough to strip paint. "As I said the last four hundred times you mentioned it, if you'd worn more reasonable clothes, instead of dressing like that..."

"Like what? Like I have good taste and can afford to wear nice things, unlike that rag you're parading around in?" came the vicious response. Griselda's lips vanished into a thin line, fine lines appearing at the corners of her mouth. Oh my, Bilbo thought, I see we've had quite a day already. Poor Fossy.

Griselda drew herself up. "This frock is both stylish and comfortable. Neither of which can be said of that ridiculous thing you're wearing _or_ that slipcovered armchair you've balanced on your head," she retorted. "I must say, you're stronger than I ever gave you credit for; most hobbits would have collapsed under all that frippery an hour ago at least." The two squared off like cats, glaring at each other while the Thain made calming motions.

"Ladies," Fortinbras said with an air of long-suffering patience, "please, let's at least _try_ to appear cordial while acting as official judges, shall we? I'm sure Bilbo has..." he trailed off as he saw the metal rosebush set beside the heavily trimmed shrub he had seen two weeks before. Lobelia and Griselda had eyes only for each other for a second or two, but finally they looked over and him and followed his gaze to the sculpture. Lobelia's breath drew in in a hiss, but Griselda spoke first.

"Bilbo Baggins, what is this magnificent piece of art? Where on earth..." She walked over and stared down at it, awestruck. "This is unbelievably lovely. When you signed up to have roses judged, I thought you meant grown roses but this is amazing!" Fortinbras' expression became uncomfortable but before he could speak, Lobelia leapt into the fray.

"There's no way to judge that! That's not a rose." She smiled unpleasantly. "It is fairly well made, I'll give it that, but it's clearly not eligible." Fortinbras' eyes narrowed.

"I'm not certain about that," he said, cutting his eyes at her and clearly irritated. "It is obviously a rosebush. It is in the garden. It would be highly unusual in a normal contest, but given the number of people whose roses had strange accidents this year, this is hardly normal." Lobelia's eyes flared and she ground her teeth, but now Dis' expression matched Thorin's. Bilbo hoped that the dwarves were able to keep their peace, because there was clearly an explosion brewing over by the bench. "Bilbo, is this a new breed? I don't believe I've ever seen such a rose before. What is it called?"

Bilbo wasn't certain if Fortinbras was teasing him or not, but he decided nothing ventured, nothing gained. It wasn't as though he had intended to compete with the sculpture, and frankly he thought it a ridiculous idea. He only played along to irritate Lobelia. "Yes, a new breed, only very recently discovered." He looked at Thorin, who was gazing at him with his whole heart in his eyes. Drat that look, Bilbo thought, I'll be sniffly again if he doesn't stop. "I call it... uh, the 'Stars of Durin'." Thorin and Dis both gaped at him. Dis actually sat down on the bench abruptly, as though her legs had given way. He hurried on, trying to think of a good story. "It was... quite difficult and time-consuming to breed them, but with effort and loving care, they came in as you see them. I couldn't be prouder." It was Thorin's turn to sit abruptly, though a muffled snicker could be heard from Dis. Fortinbras nodded sagely, as though this statement was perfectly reasonable and not a complete farrago of nonsense. Griselda was still rapt in contemplation of the work itself, but Lobelia seemed ready to spit fire like Smaug.

"This," she said vehemently while pointing at Thorin's gift, "is not a rosebush. It is a sculpture of a rosebush. These flowers are metal. These leaves are metal. This..." she reached out as though to grab a branch of it and Bilbo had suddenly had quite enough.

"Here, hands off! That's not for you to touch, Lobelia," he said sharply. Before his words were out Thorin was suddenly at her side, scowling down at her and causing her to draw back.

"You have already touched enough things in this garden uninvited. If your hand besmirches this, I will cut it off." Bilbo had never heard Thorin's voice so cold. Fortinbras almost choked, and Griselda whooped with laughter. Despite her bitter and angry expression, Lobelia quickly drew back her hand and marched swiftly over to the gate far away from the sculpture, glaring the whole while. Fortinbras eyed Thorin's braid, saw the ribbon, and ducked his head in an unsuccessful attempt to hide the smirk that made Bilbo want to kick him. Griselda seemed oblivious, but spoke to Thorin directly.

"I'll be a witness for you, whoever you are, and vow it was self-defense! I think you've met your match on this, Lobelia. Wouldn't push him if I were you; he looks serious, he does." As she spoke, her eyes drifted to the heavily pruned actual rosebush beside it and her brows drew together. Bilbo could almost see her combining Thorin's words with the butchered roses, adding up what was going on in her head. Ah, he thought. So Fossy hasn't told her the whys and wherefores of this Fair. Well, it seems the cat's out of the bag now.

"Thorin!" Bilbo said in embarrassment. "Don't... well. Please don't make a scene. My sincere apologies, Griselda, I didn't remember that I hadn't introduced you. Griselda Hornblower, may I present Thorin, son of Thrain and Dis, daughter of Thrain, who are visiting me at the moment. Thorin is the one who has recently been operating the old smithy in Hobbiton." The two dwarves stood and bowed. Griselda nodded pleasantly and opened her mouth as though to ask something, but then stopped. A crafty expression came over her face.

Turning towards Fortinbras, she said "These roses are truly magnificent. I haven't seen anything else like them in the whole Shire." She smiled sweetly at Bilbo while cutting her eyes at Lobelia. "What do you think, Fortinbras?"

"You can't be serious! There is no possible way..." Lobelia started, but Fortinbras loudly spoke over her.

"Yes, quite amazing really. Remarkable! 'Stars of Durin' you said? Well, that's champion. They're certainly in the running. Now let's see those tomatoes." He smiled knowingly at Bilbo. Ignoring the spluttering Lobelia, he and Griselda walked over to examine the vegetable garden.

=

After the judges had left, Lobelia still spewing vituperation in all directions like a Rivendell fountain, Bilbo and the dwarves went back into the house where he collapsed bonelessly into a kitchen chair. "Green Lady of Leaves, that was the most ridiculous afternoon I've had since... well, since arguing with a dragon!" He stared at the table while the other two took seats as well. The forgotten plates of food were sitting there, and each dwarf took one without being told. Dis tentatively picked up the teapot, but Bilbo remembered his manners. "No, no, I will do it! Good heavens, if I left a guest to serve me in my own smial my mother would rise from her grave and haunt me! I just... what a day." He filled the kettle and rinsed out the pot, setting everything out for tea as the water heated. "I'm sorry to make you wait for your food, I had the plates and was bringing them to you but then they came and..."

"Think nothing of it," came Dis' reply, with a similar rumble from Thorin. She took a bite of chicken, chewed and swallowed, then said with an impish grin, "That was indeed quite an experience. I take it from everyone's reactions that this was not the normal judging process? If it was, the Shire is much more contentious than I ever imagined." Bilbo snorted explosively.

"Contentious is a good word for what happened out there today! I told you, did I not, that there was bad blood between those two? I had worried a bit about how they might act after a day in the sun together, but this took the prize. I'm surprised poor Fortinbras hasn't lost his wits entirely after a day with the two of them pecking at each other like hens trapped under a basket. I owe him something magnificent for taking Lobelia down a peg, though I'm sure they can't give me a prize for Thorin's roses, lovely as they are." Dis grinned mischievously.

"Don't underestimate their joint desire to irritate that horrible woman," she said. "If Lobelia complains enough, they'll name you the winner of the whole Shire in everything out of spite. I don't even know them but I know that much, just from this afternoon." Bilbo scoffed, but he had to admit she did seem to have a point. "What on earth does she have against you personally anyway?" Bilbo laughed.

"A bit of a long story, I'm afraid. She had always wanted Bag End because (as you might have noticed) she's quite the social climber. When I went with Thorin and the rest of the group, it was rather a last-minute affair. I didn't tell anyone where I was going, how long I might be, or anything of the sort. As you well know, we weren't exactly traveling in places that had reliable post, and it turns out that a good number of people decided I must have died when I didn't come back. Lobelia saw her chance of finally living in Bag End, and she moved quickly to have title transferred to her by virtue of being married to my cousin Otho." He shook his head, reliving the memories in his mind without seeing the looks that Dis and Thorin were exchanging. "Gandalf got me back to the Shire just in time to come home to an estate sale of my things, if you can imagine! I had to kick everyone out of my smial after I turned out not to be dead, and round up the vast majority of my possessions from every corner of the Westfarthing. Furniman Beedle the solicitor still isn't entirely convinced I'm alive to this day, if you can believe it! But to answer your question, what she has against me is being alive at all, when she thought she would be able to move into my lovely smial. Can't say I'm sorry that didn't work out for her, either." He laughed delightedly and looked up to a pair of very serious faces indeed. "Whatever is the matter?"

"You never told me this," Dis said while staring at Thorin, apropos of what Bilbo couldn't determine.

"I didn't know until I arrived here," Thorin said with a hangdog expression. "I don't know what to do about it, but it must be remedied." Dis nodded soberly as Bilbo huffed in exasperation.

"Do you mind telling me what we are discussing, please? What needs to be done, and for what purpose?" He looked from one to the other. "You've gone all dwarven and mutterish again, which usually means trouble. What's the problem now?" Both seemed lost in their own thoughts, though Dis' face was like a thundercloud and Thorin looked suddenly miserable. "Thorin?"

"It's nothi..." he began, then hung his head at Bilbo's huff of disgusted disbelief. "We spoke the first night about how you had lost status to help us. I hadn't realized it was so severe. I thought it was gossip and such, which would be bad enough, but for the others to declare you dead and try to sell your things is... this is a debt that must be repaid." Bilbo laughed in relief.

"Debt? There's no debt, silly old dwarf! I told you, it's perfectly fine now and I don't mind the past a bit. I got my things back so there was no harm done... though I still suspect that Lobelia took my mother's silver spoons and lied about it, the harpy! Even so, that's a small..." Dis held up her hand, face grave in the indirect light from the kitchen window.

"It is not so simple, I'm afraid. You shamed yourself to help my kin, Bilbo Baggins. This is not something that can be waved away. We are much more in your debt than even I had suspected, not just my family in particular but all the children of Durin. Erebor can build a monument to you here; Fili would agree in a heartbeat, and it would cost your people nothing. We might erect a golden statue, commemorating..." Bilbo looked ready to leap up from his seat at the table in horror.

"You will do no such thing!" Bilbo gasped, appalled. "Good heavens, I can only imagine what would be said about me if such a thing were done! They merely suspect me mad now, then they'd know for sure!" He stopped, looking away. "Not that they really think me mad, of course, figure of speech, you know..." Dis eyed him closely.

"I have traded with the Shire for a long while now both with Balin and alone as Regent. I feel I understand a bit of the culture of your people in this place, but I pray you correct me if I am wrong in my particulars. The issues are these: You went against custom and advice and went outside the Shire. Worse, you did it in the company of unknown people who weren't even hobbits. Worse even than that, you did it without planning or notice. You were gone for a long period without writing or contacting anyone, and you returned unexpectedly. When you returned, you came back with more money and less explanations than anyone could have dreamt of in their wildest imaginings. And now you are trying to live down this 'scandal' by pretending it never happened. Is that it?" Bilbo drew back, shocked and dreadfully embarrassed to have matters laid out so frankly.

"I... well... yes, I suppose that's one way of looking at it," he stammered. "Really, though, there's no need to make a fuss. As I told Thorin on the first night he was here, let me concern myself with my reputation as I see fit. The general opinion of me in the Shire is nobody else's problem, really." Dis grinned, but there was very little humor in it.

"That is now untrue," she said sternly. "As my soon-to-be brother, your problems are my problems. Furthermore, because they were the result of your assistance to our people, they are Erebor's problems as well. Even more so because we caused it, unknowingly or not, and because it was so far-reaching. Like it or not, Bilbo Baggins, you are family now; you're an honorary dwarf twice over, and the first rule of being a dwarf is that families stick together." Bilbo's heart gave a great leap in his chest. Not having a close family was a pain he had borne for ages, since his parents died, but he had known that was just the way it was. He rarely thought of it. Dis couldn't know how her casual statement plucked at his heart strings. He tried his best to keep a neutral face as he replied.

"That's kind of you to say, really, but it's..." Dis glared at him.

"I speak nothing but the truth, and you will not deflect me with social banter. Hear me, Bilbo Baggins! When you marry my brother, you marry all his kin: myself, Fili, Kili, Balin, Dwalin, and the entire kin of Durin. Even Dain, Mahal have mercy on you. I am not lying, I am not exaggerating. We will die for you, expecting nothing, for you will be kin. The same will be expected of you; as we are kin to you, you will be kin to us. Has my brother told you nothing?" Bilbo was taken aback even as Thorin began a sputtering denial. For the second time that day treacherous tears slid down his face, defying his attempts to stay calm.

"I don't... Dis, I'm not... ugh!" He wiped his face and tried again. "Very well, I will speak plainly without what you call 'social banter', though in Hobbiton we refer to it as 'politeness'." He gave her a sour eye, which she returned thrice over. Taking a deep breath, he spoke his heart. "Thorin alone is more than I feel I deserve. To get Thorin and a family at the same time is a gift from the Green Lady herself. Thank you." Half-horrified at himself for saying all that, he still meant every word. He felt a bit shaky, but he also felt the relief that came from finally speaking a truth that had come from deep inside. Her face subsided immediately from irritation to pleasure. Thorin was gazing at Bilbo as though the hobbit had hung the sun and moon in the sky. What a day this was turning out to be!

Dis smiled, all sweetness again. "I rather feel we got the better part of the bargain, but it's a good agreement when all sides feel they are the winner, don't you think? So tell me... when are the results for today's judging announced?"

Relieved to change the subject, Bilbo smiled back. "Tonight, there will be an announcement before the feasting. This will be the first of several nights of general feasting; I was exempt from bringing food today since I was showing my garden, but expect me to spend quite a bit of time cooking in the next few days. There will be all sorts of the best the Shire has to offer! I can't wait for you to try..." he trailed off, looking at Thorin, whose face was grim. "Well, this will be a dance, won't it? We don't want you to refuse food, but you aren't going to be able to eat it without a scene unless I cooked it. And with you being the new smith, and a nine-day wonder in the Shire, the whole of Hobbiton and environs will want to feed you. Oh dear," he looked at Dis, who was grimacing, "this could be a bit more complicated than I had considered."

"I will not attend," Thorin said. "Simple enough." Just the idea infuriated Bilbo.

"I have waited fifty years for someone to wear my ribbons at a Shire event, Thorin Oakenshield. You will be seen with me if I have to carry you on my back," Bilbo retorted. Dis laughed at the image but Thorin's eyes teared up; clearly Bilbo wasn't the only one who had thought he would never have a partner.

"You are both making this too much of an issue," Dis said calmly. "We will simply tell everyone that Thorin is in the middle of a dwarven ritual and cannot eat food in public. It's not even a lie," she arched an eyebrow at her brother, "just not the whole story." Bilbo sighed, knowing this would cause more questions than it answered, but he didn't see much choice. When he reluctantly nodded, she mirrored the gesture. "Fine, now we should go and be seen. I would imagine that everyone wants to hear your story of the judges, to go with all the others." At Bilbo's look of shock, Dis grinned widely. "Hobbits aren't the only race to gossip, Bilbo. I know how this sort of thing goes, in case you hadn't yet noticed."

=

Bilbo insisted that the rosebush be moved inside before they left. He also took care to feed Thorin again before leaving so that the dwarf wouldn't have to go hungry; just the thought of being at a Fair and not being able to eat any of the food was enough to give the hobbit the cold shivers. As a result, they were a bit later than he wanted to be when they headed down the lane towards the Party Tree and the sun was fairly low in the sky. The sounds of revelry were audible even from the gate of Bag End, and no sooner had they emerged than Freddy came pelting past them in a motley crew of other faunts and grinning from ear to ear. He barely even slowed, just shouted "Mister Bilbo, you've all come! Hurray!" at the top of his lungs and then ran off with the group in hot pursuit. Thorin snickered and Dis just shook her head, muttering something about children of all races being essentially the same. Large crowds of hobbits were milling about in the field, the sounds of instruments being tuned drifted over from where the musician's stage was set up for the dancing later.

Fortinbras stood in the middle of crowd of judges on the stage assembling the final list of winners by category. Bilbo was certain Lobelia and Griselda were somewhere in the scrum, but he didn't see either of them in the press of bodies around. No sooner had he thought this than he saw two peach-clad arms flailing angrily and of course there she was. Shaking his head, he looked around the field. He spotted the Gamgees in a prime spot near the tree itself and the group began picking their way across the meadow to them. Various hobbits called out to Thorin, current and prospective customers, but Bilbo was quick to shoo them away if they started talking about work. Really, he thought, are we all so far gone that we must buttonhole people about our mending at festivals now? After dislodging one particularly persistent old farmer who was attempting to tell some complicated story about what happened to his hay fork to a blank-faced Thorin, Bilbo practically fell to the ground next to Rhoda. "Hide us," he groaned, and was rewarded with her delighted laughter.

"Mister Bilbo, good heavens, has it been so bad, then? We were beginning to think the judges had torn you to bits and eaten you up! Mistress Dis, Mister Thorin, so lovely to see you again! You..." her eyes fixed on the ribbon in Thorin's braid and she faltered for a moment, then continued with a smile "... you simply must come for dinner, and soon! You've been up at the End for ages, and we haven't had a chance to get to sit and chat! I see we've a great deal to talk about," she teased, looking very pointedly from the ribbon in Thorin's braid to the matching one on Bilbo's sleeve. Thanking his lucky stars that the evening light hid his flush better than broad daylight might have done, he smiled gamely.

"That would be lovely, we must make plans. It's been a busy few weeks, admittedly, but you're both welcome to stop by, you know. We've known each other for ages, it's not as though you need a formal invitation." Bilbo smiled over at her, then looked again more closely. "Is there something else you'd like to tell me, perhaps?" Her broad grin told him what he suspected was true.

"Aye, we're expecting. You're good, you are, to spot it in this uncertain light! Autumn babies are a challenge, but 'tis the late fruit that's sweetest." Now that he knew he could see her practically glowing.

"Well, congratulations! I can't think of better parents a faunt could have than you and Ham. Green Lady watch over you both," he uttered the traditional warding formula to avoid any ill-fortune from mentioning the future babe. She nodded and turned to Dis.

"It's good to see you and your brother at the same time, I think there was a rumor making the rounds that you were both the same person." The shocked sounds of disgust from both Dis and Thorin began a pleasant conversation that had them all thoroughly distracted and laughing more than once. The judges seemed embroiled in some sort of argument, and more than once Lobelia's screech of outrage was audible over the crowd causing more than one hobbit to look over and laugh heartily, including Rhoda who shook her head each time, looking miserable. "Poor Lobelia," was all she would say, but the look on her face made Bilbo wonder what connection Lobelia had to Rhoda.

"As long as I've known you both, I didn't realize you two knew each other," Bilbo nudged, feeling as nosy as Fossy but unable to refrain. Dis and Thorin were telling Hamfast some complicated story, so it was effectively just the two of them.

Rhoda sighed and glanced down. "I've known her since I was a faunt, though you'd hardly think it. I met her when my parents would take me to Harbottle to visit my mother's family. She was such a prim and proper little thing, always wearing elaborate outfits even then. Her parents were old, much older than mine, and she didn't have a lot of... well, any friends really." Rhoda's eyes glistened at the memory. "Her parents spoiled her rotten, since she was their only child and a late one at that, and she always was a bossy little thing. We got along mostly, when I was there, and I hoped that having a friend would help her but I know I wasn't there as much as she would have liked. We only visited Mum's family once a month or so, but I don't think Beely had anyone else really. I was as close to a real friend as she had, sad as that is. Of course, when she married Otho, she became far too grand to speak to the likes of me, especially since her opinion of Ham wasn't... well," she said, but the pinched mouth and furrowed brows told Bilbo more than he needed to know about how that conversation must have gone. "I feel bad for her, but she really is impossible now. I just wish things could have gone differently for her, that's all." She cast a weary eye up at the stage, where whatever disagreement had happened seemed to have been resolved and all the judges were lined up.

"I had no idea," Bilbo stammered. "Otho was... well, he was sort of the forgotten child. His sisters Marigold and Hyacinth were everywhere and into everything, but Otho was just... sort of there. We all said when he married her that we supposed he was used to bossy women, but..." They both looked at the peach-clad figure in line, neck held stiff and nose elevated. "I suppose there's someone for everyone." He wasn't expecting her burst of laughter.

She looked from him to Thorin, eyes dancing. "Seems to me there is, and you've found yours! Now I want to know..." Just then, Fortinbras cleared his throat loudly and rapped on the podium to get everyone's attention.

"Welcome back, my friends, to the Westfarthing Fair! To see such a lovely crowd is to be reminded of the strengths of the Shire itself..." Bilbo's eyes rolled of their own volition, and Rhoda giggled like a naughty faunt. Ham gave them a look, as did Thorin and Dis, and soon the whole group was snickering at Fortinbras' florid speechifying. Finally, long after everyone had given up hope that he might have a point, let alone get to it, he launched into the important bit. "The moment you've all been waiting for has arrived!" The list of winners in various categories were announced to cheers and clapping, whistling, and in one case, hooting, when Owlfeather Farms took Best Pig. Bilbo made a mental note to avoid Iris Boffin at all costs, at least until tomorrow. When the garden categories were announced, there were two surprises. First, Bilbo's tomatoes had lost to Hamfast Gamgee. He wasted no time in offering his sincere congratulations, and wasn't even upset.

Secondly, and much more of a shock, he had won "Best New Breed" for roses with the 'Stars of Durin'... the same prize Lobelia had been angling for with hers. Amid the general cheers and clapping, their group was quiet. As if it wasn't bad enough that a confused Ham was looking at him, asking "New breed of roses?" under his breath, Lobelia was glaring directly at him from the stage. Griselda stood preening beside her. Bilbo sighed. Now wasn't _this_ going to be exceptionally awkward?


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love you all! Mwah! <3

Bilbo looked at Ham, unsure of how to proceed or really even where to begin. Lobelia could be angry forever and die pickled in it for all he cared, but Ham was his friend and had taught him more about gardening than anyone but his mother. "I..." he said uncomfortably, then stopped. The clapping and cheering had started and so with a look of regret he went up to accept his ribbon. By the time he came back, Ham was smiling but looked uncomfortable in a way Bilbo had never seen him look before.

"Well, congratulations," Ham said in a false hearty voice, "I look forward to seeing these new roses. I just wish you'd let me know beforehand." Blast, and now he's hurt, Bilbo sighed. Dis picked up on what was going on immediately and laughed brightly.

"It's a bit of a joke, really," she said in a conspiratorial voice, ignoring Bilbo's shushing motions. "Thorin made Bilbo a rosebush in the forge as a... type of gift. The judges were quite taken with it. Lobelia was acting so ridiculous when they showed up and pitched a fit that it couldn't be judged, and things sort of grew from there." Rather than being comforted, Ham's brows drew down even further and he looked as upset as Bilbo had ever seen him.

"A joke, you say? Well... I'm sorry to say it but I can't think that's a good thing. The Shire Fair is a serious thing, the judges shouldn't be playing about with it. Just my thinking, of course, but I'm firm on it." He shook his head grimly. "Joking about with the Fair! In all my days, I've never seen... well. In all my days," he muttered. Dis looked helplessly at Bilbo, who was glaring at her. This was bad enough without a dwarven boot in the middle of it, he thought, now what do I do? Rhoda wasn't saying anything but her worried expression told Bilbo that she thought this was serious as well.

"You're quite right, Ham, it's a mess. I never expected them to follow through with it, and wish they hadn't to be honest. It's all gotten a bit out of hand, to my mind. I suppose I should return the prize," he said. Now Dis looked belligerent, but Bilbo swore if she spoke up and made this worse she'd regret it. Some of his thoughts must have shown on his face; she ostentatiously turned around and began a conversation with Thorin in Khuzdul, effectively shutting the rest of the group out. "It's not as bad as it sounds, though; I was the only one in that category, though I was trying for Best Roses. The judges moved me into the 'New Breed' category when nobody else was competing. Since Lobelia couldn't compete, being a judge, there was nobody else, so nobody was done wrong by it."

"Nobody else?" Now Ham was confused again. Bilbo cursed his treacherous mouth; would this awkwardness never end? "I know for a fact that Hyacinth Burrows was showing a new hybrid, and..." Ham proceeded to name off two or three other hobbits in Hobbiton, Bywater and the countryside with new roses and Bilbo's heart sank. Confound Lobelia for being such a... well, so thorough in her destruction, and confound Ham for being so tuned in with the gardening world! Bilbo didn't want to tell Ham about Lobelia's depredations, but it seemed he had no choice.

"Well, there's a bit more to it than that, I'm afraid," he said finally. "It seems that someone went about to all those places and... how to say this... messed about with the roses." Ham drew in an offended breath, utterly scandalized. "They were a bit damaged, and so didn't get judged."

Before Ham's look of confusion could even appear, Dis turned, looked Bilbo straight in the eye, and said "Someone being Lobelia, he means." Then turned back to her Khuzdul discussion. Thorin put his face in his hands, but the damage was done. Ham's face darkened in outrage. Bilbo knew it was simply not done to kill the sister of one's beloved, but right now, he was considering going against that custom.

"What!" he said loudly, ignoring Bilbo's pained look and quick glance around the meadow to see if anyone else was watching. "Do you mean to tell me..." Bilbo gave a pained grimace that could only pass for a smile in dim light. He hated to interrupt Ham, but he knew it was the only way to keep the story out of general circulation, given the likely volume of the objections. The last thing he needed was more gossip associated with him; he'd had quite enough of that, thanks very much.

"It's all taken care of, Ham, it's why Fossy made her a judge, don't you see? She couldn't compete that way, and a judge with Griselda as well, everyone knew it was more a punishment than privilege. This prize... well, she was being, you know, Lobelia, and they did it because she was so offended I suspect. I'm sure they didn't mean..." He knew he was talking too fast, but he was trying to head off an explosion. Ham was still shaking his head and sighing. Rhoda leaned over and gave up all pretense of not listening, putting her arm around her husband and rolling her eyes at Bilbo as though to say 'well do something'. I'm trying, he tried to signal back.

"I don't like this, Mister Bilbo, not one bit. Hobbits sneaking about and ruining others' gardens, judges of the Fair giving false prizes... what's the world coming to, when even the Fair isn't being done proper? I'm shocked that even that wretched woman would stoop so low, and... oh. Oh Mister Bilbo, tell me it wasn't when I saw her in your garden!" Ham's horror was honestly a bit extreme, Bilbo thought, but here at least he could provide truthful comfort.

"No, no, my roses were fine that day... I suppose she was just there that time to scope out the competition. That she came back to ruin them was sort of a backhanded compliment in a way, I suppose. I didn't want to believe it was her, but I found one of her foot-flowers, so that's that. Please don't spread it about though. You of all people know I don't need to be associated with any more gossip at the moment." His glance towards Thorin was plain to Ham but thankfully hidden from the dwarves, who sounded as though they were on the verge of an argument. "Let's just... let's just enjoy the Fair," Bilbo said miserably. "I will go tell Fortinbras not to record me as a winner, and that I've had second thoughts about the whole thing. You're right; a joke is a joke but the Fair should be treated as seriously as it deserves." He dared not look at Thorin or Dis to see how this would be received, but Ham exhaled sharply then nodded. Crisis averted, it seemed. The next moment, the dinner horn blew, signaling that the feast was about to begin. Ham and Rhoda bounced up and had their blanket folded in a trice, tucked back into the basket they had brought. By the time Dis and Thorin had stood, the other hobbits were bouncing almost like Freddy, eager to go and eat. They started off in a group. As though by magic, Freddy appeared by Bilbo's side, this time without the crowd he had been running about with earlier.

"Ah, there you are!" Bilbo said grandly. "Hamfast and Rhodadendron Gamgee, may I present young Fredegund Deepleaf. Freddy is assisting Thorin in the smithy, and I've taken him on to help him get settled from his recent change of circumstances." At Rhoda's sudden indrawn breath, Bilbo could tell she knew the tale. "Freddy, Ham and Rhoda live just down the Hill from me. Ham is a master gardener, and has taught me everything I know about plants. If you ever need gardening advice, he's the best in the Shire." Freddy turned anxious eyes and a hesitant smile at Ham, who was blushing and scoffing at the praise, when a voice cut through the evening air like a knife.

"Mm! Finally, a bit of good luck in this wretched day. _Boy_!" Freddy went from appearing happy to cringing immediately, shoulders around his ears. Of course it would be Lobelia, Bilbo thought. "Go and find my husband Otho and tell him to meet me..." she finally registered who else was standing around. Thorin, Dis, and Ham all looked ready to kill; Rhoda's mouth was a thin line, though her eyes were still sad. Bilbo had to give Lobelia credit for nerve; he doubted that he himself would have been able to face such a sea of unfriendly faces without cringing, but she simply drew herself up proudly and carried on. "Tell him to meet me at the dessert table in five minutes. There's a copper farthing in it for you if you are quick." Freddy ducked his head, but Bilbo spoke up first.

"He shan't be doing that, Lobelia." He was proud of himself for his tone; gentle but firm. "His errand running days are done."

"Mm. Is that so? And what is it to you, then, Cousin Bilbo?" He had to admit, nobody could put more poison into a claim of relation. "Haven't you done enough already today?"

Fighting to keep his temper, Bilbo replied "Freddy has left his work at the Inn, along with all its side duties. Thorin and I are employing him at the smithy, as well as ensuring that he receives a proper education. Running errands for farthings is not in the curriculum, I'm afraid." Ham's muffled snort of glee made Lobelia's eyes narrow, but Bilbo simply stared her down. What could she do, he wondered idly. She's lucky Thorin hasn't stabbed her already.

"Well, if this doesn't take the prize! Apparently consorting with foreigners isn't enough for you. First you convince the judges to let you win with that ridiculous sculpture, now you take my errand boy! I've had about..." Suddenly Bilbo's vision flashed red.

"He isn't _your_ anything, Lobelia. If it weren't for people like you, he'd have been treated properly in the first place, and not left to rot at an inn! I think we've all had about enough of your company for one day, so why don't you run along and find Otho yourself for a change?" Breathing hard, Bilbo felt his face reddening, but honestly, how much could one hobbit be expected to take? "And as for 'consorting with foreigners', I'm lucky they didn't meet you first, or else they'd have written off the whole Shire! Each of these dwarves here is worth a hundred of you, so put that in your pipe and smoke it! Now _go away_." With that he turned around, pointedly putting his back to her. He only suspected that she opened her mouth to reply, because Dis stepped forward, eyes like chips of pale shining ice.

"If you want to walk away on your own legs, leave now." With one final disgusted sound, Lobelia stormed off, ignoring the laughter from someone Bilbo couldn't even see, along with a shouted 'and that's you told!' Freddy was shaking but his smile to Bilbo was brilliant.

"Ee, Mister Thorin were right, sir, you _are_ a hero! No dragon never got faced down so sharp as you done Missus SB!" The faunt was bouncing up and down in excitement, but Bilbo felt a bit shaky and wan. He hated direct conflicts like that, and knew how poisonous Lobelia could be. Thorin's hand appeared on his shoulder, guiding him forward as they resumed their stroll towards the food tables.

"You certainly were fierce," Rhoda said approvingly. "I didn't know you had it in you. Apparently adventuring taught you quite a bit. Made you some good friends, too," she smiled at Dis and Thorin in approval, who nodded in return. "Now... let's eat!" And with that they went to get food, Thorin trailing along behind with his hand still resting comfortably on Bilbo's shoulder.

=

After dinner (and wasn't navigating that a challenge, what with Thorin unable to eat, Bilbo thought sourly) Bilbo left Dis with Ham and Rhoda and took Thorin around to show him the rest of the Fair. The looks on the other two hobbits' faces when Bilbo assured Dis that they would behave properly without a chaperone would have been terribly funny - funny, that is, if Bilbo hadn't felt so embarrassed he could have died. His curt "Not a word from either of you," to Sam and Rhoda caused general hilarity with the group, and both he and Thorin left with their faces burning. The dancing had begun by this point, and the sounds of fiddles and pipes filled the whole area giving a musical counterpoint to the evening, finally shading into full night. There were candles and lamps everywhere giving the field a magical glow, and they walked slowly through the celebration, with Bilbo pointing out spots from his past adventures as a faunt and then as a tween. Freddy kept appearing and disappearing, running up to speak and then running off, so it wasn't as though they didn't have a chaperone, he thought, though admittedly an intermittent one. Seeing someone he had been looking for, Bilbo guided Thorin between the benches set out for resting between dances to two elderly hobbits sitting quietly and smoking while watching the Fair unfold.

Both of them were advanced in age, white starting to appear in their curls and lines on their faces. The hair on their feet was already white and grizzled. Bilbo smiled at them and said "Tom, Hugo, what are you two rascals doing here?" He made an exaggerated show of looking around. "There's always some mischief where you two are. So I've heard anyway."

Tom snorted and that made him cough a bit. "Rascal, he says, Hugo, and how d'ye like that? Mister Bilbo, always a joy to see you, boy. And who's this you've brought?" The old hobbit peered at Thorin, sharp eyes spotting the ribbon just as Hugo chuckled and nodded. Tom was thin and dressed as a bit of a dandy, but the stockier Hugo was wearing the old clothes of a farmer and had a bushy white set of muttonchops that would have graced a dwarf.

"Ee, 'e's a dwarf," came the broad Marish accent of Hugo, making the _a_ drawl out - _dwaaaaarf_ , "but 'e's a 'andsome 'un, aint 'e? Good 'e's got 'is ribbon on. Hungry folk in 'ese parts." Tom laughed and then laughed harder as Thorin reddened, head drawing down into his shoulders a bit.

"Thomas Willowbrook, Hugo Highroot, may I present Thorin, son of Thrain. Thorin, Tom and Hugo are among my oldest friends here in the Shire." With an arch look he said "In both senses of old, I'm afraid." The resultant scoffing and hooting made Thorin relax a bit, and Bilbo could see why. They practically sounded like dwarves! Freddy ran up, mouth open to say something, then stopped as he realized that Bilbo was actually talking to someone else. Noticing the new arrival, Bilbo hooked a hand around the boy's shoulder and hauled him over to stand in front of the older hobbits. "And may I also present young master Fredegund Deepleaf, who I'm trying to instill with some manners. Freddy, please meet Thomas Willowbrook and Hugo Highroot," indicating them in turn. The boy made a proper response to each, and Tom nodded approvingly.

"I remember hearing of young Freddy! My deepest condolences on your loss, my boy. Your mother was my fourth cousin, twice removed. A great loss," he said solemnly. Freddy nodded and thanked him politely, and they all pretended not to notice the suspicious glitter of his eyes. Tom smiled at him and then went on "Bilbo, seems you've done a good job, for all he's from the Marish as I hear from his accent. I've been working to teach manners to this one for nigh on sixty years, and it's come to naught." He pulled an exaggerated face of sadness, causing Bilbo and Thorin to both snicker. Freddy gaped at adults behaving in such a fashion. 

Hugo drew deeply on his pipe, supremely unbothered by all this and leaned back to blow the smoke out in a spiraling column. "See, now, 'eres nowt wrong wi' t'Marish," he said mildly. "We act fittin', na like y' We'farthin' fiddlers."

"Ee, tha learn 'em, gaffer!" Freddy shouted in solidarity, then realized what he'd done. He blushed beet red and ducked his head as everyone started laughing in earnest, even Hugo. In a moment he fled, running off with his face still glowing. Bilbo hoped he wasn't too embarrassed; he knew from personal experience Tom and Hugo were a bit much for young hobbits. He leaned back and actually rested his head on Thorin's shoulder. He could feel Thorin tensing but wanted to make a point; he hoped the dwarf could pick up on it.

"And yes," Bilbo said finally, "he is a handsome one, and he's mine. So eyes off, you old reprobate." Tom whooped and laughed as Hugo continued to smoke calmly. His pretense of ignoring everyone was almost perfect, if not for the two tiny, glittering eyes watching everyone else intently and filled with good humor.

"You've naught to fear from this one, he'd not know what to do with him if he had him. He has more now that he can handle, sad to say," Tom said with a fond grin over at the other hobbit, whose eyes twinkled merrily back at him behind the giant muttonchops. "But Bilbo, that's champion, that is, that's glorious. Magnificent news, really. We've been waiting for a long time for you to settle down. Took your time with it, you did," he said with a pointed look. It was Bilbo's turn to duck his head in embarrassment, but unexpectedly Thorin spoke up.

"He was simply waiting for the right person," came the dwarf's baritone rumble. He wrapped his arms around the hobbit leaning against him, but Bilbo could feel the tension inside them.

"Ee, ain't that 'arf a voice! Do right, me Tom, 'r I'll gi' me a dwarf wi' a voice just so an' put ye away!" Hugo said. Tom shushed him and Bilbo giggled as always at their antics, feeling Thorin relax a bit behind him.

"Tom and Hugo have been together longer than I've been alive," he told Thorin fondly over his shoulder. "They've always been there for me, offered advice where needed, and generally been my dear friends." He felt more than saw Thorin's nod.

"And a kick where needed as well, betimes," Tom said, grinning. "You've got hold of one of the best of us, Mister Thorin, see that you treat him right." The smile that accompanied this was kind, but there was a sharp undertone to it that came through very clearly indeed. Bilbo felt Thorin drawing himself up.

"I intend to," came the stiff reply, though his offended posture was ruined by Bilbo elbowing him in the ribs. He grunted and finally said "That is... I'm lucky to have him, and I know it." Tom made a pleased sound. Leaning against him as he was, Bilbo could feel Thorin trembling. "I can only hope to prove worthy."

"I'm afraid it's the other way 'round, really. I'm the one who is lucky to have Thorin," Bilbo said immediately, wishing he could do more to offer comfort. "He's everything I ever wanted and never thought I'd be fortunate enough to find. So you two be nice to him," he said, which provoked another round of hilarity and loud protestations of just how nice they had been already. Thorin seemed discomfited but played along gamely; Bilbo made a note to ask why. They stayed for a few minutes more, making pleasant small talk, and Bilbo was surprised when Thorin told a funny story about the forge in what he couldn't help but think was a very hobbitlike fashion. Eventually, Bilbo excused them to return to Ham, Rhoda and Dis.

As they were walking back, Bilbo asked "Why did that make you uncomfortable?" He thought Thorin was going to deny it, but the dwarf finally sighed and looked down.

"Dwarves do not... demonstrate affection in front of others. It is considered scandalous, and something that should be kept behind closed doors. It is true that it was uncomfortable and awkward for me, but they were your friends and you wished to show them for some reason. I'm sorry that I..." Bilbo whipped about and stopped him, then pulled him off the path to a quiet spot behind a tree.

"Do not apologize for having a feeling, Thorin Oakenshield." He said, smiling to take the sting from his words. "And I wish I'd thought to ask beforehand. Truly, I would have asked first if I had known they would be there, but they were... are... my oldest and dearest friends and, well... I am proud of having you. I wanted to show you off," he said sheepishly. "It didn't occur to me that you might not be comfortable, and for that I apologize in turn. Now that I know, I won't do that again."

Thorin was dumbfounded. "Show me off? Why... I don't understand."

Bilbo's eyes rolled in spite of his best intentions to control them. "Because I feel blessed to have you, you ridiculous dwarf! Thorin, you're undeniably handsome, you're kind, you're dear to me... get it through your head that I'm proud of you, and proud to be the object of your affections. With my parents dead, Tom and Hugo are the only ones whose opinion I care enough about to show you off to, and they were clearly impressed. Not that it would matter if they weren't, but..." he trailed off. Thick fingers caught him under the chin and turned his face, and when he saw Thorin's eyes he was lost. His whole heart fell into twin pools of sapphire blue.

"I am honored, then, to meet them, and so lucky to have you words cannot express it. You are the other half of my soul, and I will love you until we reach the Halls of Mahal together." He leaned in and kissed Bilbo, who forgot where he was for blissful moments before remembering that he was in a shadowy spot in the Shire Fair, of all places. Reluctantly, he pulled back, seeing the anguish in Thorin's face. Right, he thought dimly. The _ma_ -whatsis, the longing, right. Don't tease. Right. Phwoar.

Hands and feet still tingling with excitement from Thorin's kiss, Bilbo finally said "We should get back." His voice was thick sounding even to his own ears, but by the Green Lady Herself, if Thorin kept kissing him like that he might just burst into flames. Thorin's sigh and nod made it clear he felt the same way, but together they slunk back to Dis where she was waiting with the others. When they arrived, she gave them both one sharp glance, shook her head, and sighed. They walked with Sam and Rhoda back to the gate of Bag End where Dis stiffened abruptly. Standing at the door of Bilbo's smial was one of the guards, and from his new understanding of dwarven body language, he could tell there was something wrong. His tense hands, jerky movements and signs of hurry were all that it took to make Thorin step in front of Bilbo and produce a knife from... somewhere. He hurriedly bid good night to the Gamgees, and went to see what the problem was.

Dis met him at the door, guard looming beside her. "Word has been sent. There has been an attack. I must return to Shahrulbizad at once." Simple enough, Bilbo thought.

=

Of course, nothing was simple about it. She explained the situation to Bilbo and Thorin as soon as she sent the guard to fetch the second guard and gather up the ponies for transport.

Dis had to return because there had been a surprise attack by goblins through one of the deep shafts. An unknown number of dwarves were wounded, mostly the miners who were there when the goblins arrived. The military had cleared the worst of it, but now the settlement was dependent on makeshift fortifications and barricades, the Miners Guild was in chaos, and it was currently unknown whether there were more goblins below. There had apparently never been goblins in those mountains before, so the scope of the threat was also unknown. Was this a small group? A large group spreading out which had simply never encountered the dwarves before? An expeditionary force from a major settlement? Nobody knew, and the uncertainty was causing panic in the city. Clearly Dis needed to leave and make haste to get back to where she could properly direct the defense efforts.

As if that weren't enough, she point-blank refused to leave Thorin and Bilbo unchaperoned. No matter what Bilbo said or what Thorin argued (or how loudly he bellowed, Bilbo thought in disgust) she maintained that they were not to be left alone until such time as they could properly be married. Under normal circumstances, she would simply take Thorin with her, but since that was dooming him to death by slow starvation, it wasn't an option. She couldn't leave one of the guards to keep an eye on them because they weren't family. Bilbo's flat refusal to allow a stranger with no connection to anyone he knew to stay in his smial went unchallenged because neither Thorin nor Dis seemed to consider the possibility for an instant. Bilbo offered to prepare food and send it with them, but that would last for a week or two at the longest; nobody knew how long it would take before Thorin could return. Sighing, he went to pack long before Dis and Thorin argued each other into seeing the obvious solution, but it was clear. Bilbo would have to go with them.

Standing in his room, he began packing. Clothes, handkerchiefs (this time), toiletries... The garden, he thought. I need to tell Ham and Rhoda I'm going this time. They're sure to still be awake. As he moved to the door, he remembered Freddy. The next few hours passed in a blur. Ham and Rhoda were happy to keep an eye on the smial and the gardens, and Ham swore practically a blood oath to guard against 'despoilers'. Bilbo almost laughed at this florid description of Lobelia tearing up a few roses, but he had to take it seriously as Ham was deadly serious and kind as he was, Bilbo couldn't hurt his feelings. He was preparing a letter to send to Fortinbras leaving instructions for Freddy's education when the door of the smial was subjected to a furious rapping. Who on earth would that be at this hour, Bilbo wondered, rising from his desk. Probably a guard. Dis and Thorin were squabbling in the back, thankfully in Khuzdul so only the tone could be heard, but already it was driving Bilbo half-mad. He couldn't imagine his mental state after being on the road with the two of them for any length of time. He opened the door expecting to see one of the guards, only to reveal a small and disheartened looking faunt, face soaked with tears.

"Sir," Freddy said with a whimper, "don't go. Please don't go. I can't lose you too." Green Lady of Trees, Bilbo thought, what am I going to do with this?


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so this one is pretty much all the feels. I promise there's more story ahead :)

Bilbo stared in shock at the dejected faunt on his stoop. "Fredegund Deepleaf, it is the middle of the night! What in the name of the Green Lady and the Smith are you doing out of bed, let alone traipsing about the Shire?" Despite his concern for the boy, he almost laughed at how much he sounded like his own mother. Freddy barely reacted other than to draw himself a little further down into his own shoulders. He looked utterly miserable.

"Please don't leave me," he half-whispered. "I'll be ever so good." Tears trickled out of the corners of his eyes and once again, Bilbo felt his heart go to pieces. He held out his arms and the boy came and hugged him, sniffling softly into Bilbo's waistcoat.

"Freddy..." he started, then paused and pulled back to look at the tear-stained face pressing into his side. "How on earth do you know that I'm leaving? I barely just found out myself! Are you spying on me, lad?" Freddy shook his head defiantly, though all that could be seen was a mop of black curls. His response was so muffled as to be indistinguishable. "Now my boy, stop that and sit down. I'll fix us some tea and a snack, but I want to hear about how you know my travel plans before we go any further. Understood?" Freddy nodded and pulled back, surreptitiously wiping his nose on his sleeve and receiving a stern look for it. He sat at the table, kicking his feet while Bilbo prepared tea. He almost asked Dis and Thorin if they wanted anything, but a shout and thud from the back room made Freddy's eyes go round and Bilbo's lips vanish into a single grim line. He'd had about enough of that. "I'll be right back. If the water boils, leave it; the kettle is too heavy for you just yet. But I do want the answer, my lad, and I'll have it tonight, understand?" At Freddy's nod, Bilbo strode down the hall and flung open the door.

In Thorin's room, Dis and Thorin were standing in the center of the room, clothing half-packed and arguing over his toolbox in Khuzdul. They both looked up as Bilbo came in, clearly unaware of how much noise they were making. " _Mizimel_ , what..." Thorin began but Bilbo glared at the two of them until his words trailed off.

"I have had about enough of shouting dwarves in my home," he said in a low, angry voice. "If you cannot speak to each other in a civil tone, then do not speak. When we are on the road, I suppose you can shout the leaves off the trees if you must, but if you embarrass me again in front of my neighbors, or Valar forfend the shirriffs come knocking to see what the row is about, I may very well send you on without me and bar the door!" He lowered his voice even further, ignoring the two dwarves' matching expressions of surprise. "For your information Freddy is here, he has somehow heard that we are leaving, and he is very upset. It does not help to have you two back here shouting like fishwives at each other. Be quiet!" With that, he closed the door just softly enough not to count as a slam and made his way back to the kitchen. The water was starting to murmur in the kettle, but Freddy was sitting with a very pert expression indeed in spite of the tear-tracks on his face; clearly he had heard the whole interaction. The ghost of Belladonna Took rose up in Bilbo's mind saying 'little pitchers have big ears', and he smiled sadly at the memory of his mother before saying tartly "And not a word from you, young sir, other than an explanation of just how you're so well-informed on my business. Speak up." The puckish look fell away as the faunt suddenly became fascinated with his own fingers.

"I were headin' back to the Greenfields but I seen one of your, I mean, one of Lady Dis' guards movin' at a fair clip, and I was curious, and I followed him. They were packin' quick-like, and one told Bill the stable-master they were leavin' and wouldn't be back. They were speakin' that tongue of theirs with each other, and don't it sound a mouthful of rocks?" He smiled hopefully up, clearly trying to distract Bilbo, but the older hobbit's expression made it clear that it wasn't his lucky night for such tricks. Face sinking as he realized it wasn't going to work, he went on. "The Innkeeper, Master Farlow, he asked 'em if Lady Dis were goin' and they said aye, her and likely Mister Thorin as well. I knew you weren't goin' to let him go without you went yourself, and so here I am." He looked anxiously at Bilbo, who just shook his head.

"With deductive skills like that, we ought to get Fortinbras to make you a shirriff," was all he said before fetching the water and fixing tea. After a quick rummage in the pantry, he brought the end of a loaf of bread and some butter and jam. "Here you are, Freddy. Midnight snacks are a fine tradition in this house, I assure you, so feel free to nibble as you wish." No sooner had he said it than Freddy began enthusiastically buttering a slice of the bread, despite having eaten the contents of an entire larder at the feast not three hours past. Bilbo couldn't help but grin; the appetite of faunts Freddy's age were legendary, and it seemed he was a typical example of the breed. Sighing, he addressed the matter at hand. "The truth is, yes, I do find myself going with them for a number of reasons," and with that he gave a stern look to the faunt. "Reasons which needn't concern you, I must say, nor which need to be discussed anywhere other than this table. Do I make myself clear?" Freddy's nod was quick and certain, but the words that followed were a surprise.

"Oh sir, I'd not spread your business around, I learned that early at... at home." Belatedly remembering the boy's circumstances and parents, Bilbo was certain that was the case. He was mildly ashamed to have forgotten. "But sir, please let me come. I promise I'll be ever so good, and I can keep learnin' the lessons you set, and..." Bilbo held up his hand to stop the rushing flow of words.

"Freddy, I'm sorry, but there is simply no way I can bring you with us. We are headed into an uncertain situation which may very well be unsafe; no-one knows. Very unusually for a hobbit, I know from my travels how to fight and take care of myself, but you cannot say the same. I would be remiss to take a faunt of your tender years into what might turn out to be a war zone, leaving aside the somewhat dangerous nature of dwarven cities in general! I will send word to..." Freddy had begun crying again silently, huge tears welling up and dripping down his face. He didn't say anything, just sat staring at his bread, but his expression was full of such anguish that Bilbo stopped what he was saying. "Freddy, what's really wrong? Why are you crying? You'll be well looked after. It's not like I'm leaving for good, I promise."

"You are! You might!" the boy shouted wildly, surprising Bilbo. "I knew it was too good to be true! You're going to go away and I'll be left alone again and I'll be back at the Inn and running errands and not eating and... and... and..." Freddy flung himself dramatically facedown onto the table, crying as though his heart was breaking. Bilbo teared up himself, feeling like a terrible person for not realizing how this might look to someone who had been through such trauma so recently. He glanced up to see Dis peer around the corner, make a sympathetic face, and retreat. Bless her for that, he thought, then scooted over to be next to Freddy.

"Oh lad, I'm so very sorry," he said quietly, putting his hand on the boy's thin shoulders as they heaved, rubbing them gently to offer some comfort. "I didn't think how this might look to you. I promise you, though, I will do my absolute best to come back. If I came back from a fight with a dragon and a battle with a whole army of orcs and wargs, don't you think I'm likely to come back from a squabble with some goblins?" Freddy glanced up, nose running like a faucet, but simply put his head back down. Bilbo continued rubbing the faunt's back. "Truly, I dislike the idea of leaving at least as much as you dislike the idea of my going. I have taken on responsibility for your well-being, and done so in front of the Thain, so you needn't think that I was going to run away without a word. You didn't think that, I hope?" The hesitant headshake seemed to arise more out of politeness than conviction, which explained a great deal. "Ah. Well I assure you, I was already writing a letter to Fortinbras to ask him to arrange for tutoring for you and to take especial care of you while I was gone. Would you like to read it?" Huge black eyes peered up from beneath the mop of curls and finally Bilbo got a tentative nod. "Very good, I'll fetch it. Eat the rest of your bread, I'll be right back." He trotted to the study, thanking his lucky stars that he had already drafted the letter; if he hadn't had something to show, it would have been a hard sell indeed to convince the boy he wasn't being abandoned again. He proffered the sheet of foolscap with a flourish when he returned.

_My Dear Fortinbras,_

_I hope this letter finds you and your mother well, along with all our Aunts, Uncles, Cousins and assorted family at the Great Smial. I am writing to you hurriedly and in a bit of a conundrum, I'm afraid. I have recently received news that requires me to travel unexpectedly again - though I assure you, I shan't be gone for years this time, and my travel plans are quite a bit less ambitious than the Lonely Mountain. Something has come up in the Blue Mountains that requires Dis and Thorin to attend to it, and I am accompanying them. I will give you a full accounting upon my return, as I owe you that and more after all you've done for me. Even so, I beg your forgiveness for I am writing with yet another request; I am forced to leave behind young Fredegund, whom you met. The lad is doing well and shows promise in his lessons, and I don't want him to fall behind while I am away. If you could, please arrange for him to receive tutoring from someone both proper and sympathetic to his unique situation and I will be ever so grateful. Please also let the Greenfields know that he will need to eat all his meals with them until my return. They have children, so they know what that entails. I will send a separate note giving you permission to repay them from my accounts at the Exchange so please ensure that they are well compensated. Alas, time presses and I must go, but thank you again ever so much for all the kindnesses you have done already, and thank you also for your patience with your cousin who seems to have so many requests of you lately._

_My best to your mother and all the family,_

_Warmest wishes,_

_Bilbo_

By the time Freddy had picked his way through the letter and asked what particular words meant (he found 'conundrum' to be a particularly amusing word, repeating it several times, and 'entails' made him snicker through the rest of the letter) Bilbo felt as though he'd run a footrace. Freddy didn't look much better off, though the faunt's good humor was at least a bit restored. "So you see," Bilbo said as they concluded, "I had not forgotten you, my lad, nor was I in any way preparing to scamper off on some errand without arranging to ensure you would be properly cared for." He sighed, gazing into the blackness visible out the kitchen window. "Now, I suggest that you rest here tonight, as it's so late. I will fix you a pallet in the parlor, but first thing in the morning you should hurry back to the Greenfields. When they realize you didn't come home, they are likely to blow the horn of Buckland looking for you!" Freddy ducked his head, but a mischievous twinkle was still visible. Sighing, Bilbo went to fetch blankets and a pillow. Dis' door was open, and at her wordless question, he nodded and she smiled in apparent relief. By the time he got the faunt bedded down, Bilbo felt as though his bones had been filled with lead. He crept to his own bed, wishing there was a way to extend the hours of night to get the full night's sleep he knew he had already missed.

=

The next day came like an avalanche, and when Bilbo awoke he felt that he was already beneath it. He couldn't have felt any more flat and out of sorts if he had been stepped on by a stone giant. He had barely awoken before a burst of loud Khuzdul came through his door from the front of the house, clearly Dis' voice, though whether she was berating Thorin or one of the bodyguards was unknown. He dragged himself wearily out of bed and glared at his traveling clothes before putting them on, then grumbled his way out into the hallway to see a bleary-eyed faunt stumbling out of the parlor. "Good morning," he said, though it seemed anything but, and Freddy responded in a similar tone. A memory brought Bilbo straight upright. Glancing out the window, it was already almost second breakfast, and Freddy was barely awake - the Greenfields would be frantic, he thought. "Freddy! It's late, and we have both overslept. You must go immediately to the Greenfields and let them know you are alright. Not a word, my boy," he raised a finger against the rebellious, half-awake look he received from this pronouncement, "do as I tell you. Let me make some toast first, of course, but then you must go and quickly. After that, I'll give you the letter for Fortinbras and you can run it over yourself. He won't be able to resist helping with you standing there staring at him." Still grumbling, Bilbo moved into the kitchen and threw the skillet on the hob, cracking some eggs and slicing bread. Dis came back through the door of the smial, cursing under her breath, and drew up short at the sight of Bilbo.

"You're awake," she said in an exasperated tone. "Good, I was beginning to fear you dead or fled. We must leave today. The city could..." belatedly, she saw Freddy sitting at the table, staring at her with wide eyes. Bilbo thought in exhaustion, if he starts crying again I am going to push Dis into the stove and then jump in myself. She grimaced for a brief moment, then composed herself. "Good morning, Freddy. I didn't realize you had spent the night. I suppose Bilbo has told you that we need to take a brief trip to the Blue Mountains, yes? Even so, we'll be back before you know it." Her smile wouldn't have fooled an infant, and Bilbo stepped into the conversation before she put her foot in it any worse.

"Yes, thank you, Dis, I have in fact communicated that to him. I told him last night that our errand, though hopefully short, ran the risk of being rather too dangerous for a faunt of his tender years, though I'm sure we will all be fine. After he eats a quick bite here, I am sending him to Fortinbras with a letter to request a tutor for him so that he will be well taken care of while we are away. I expect him to study diligently, especially since he won't be working at the smithy while we are gone. I suppose that means he will be getting paid to study, so I expect him to make a good show of it." He smiled at Freddy, who was agog. Clearly the idea that he might still collect payment for work he wasn't doing had never occurred to him. "And," he continued, "I will test him when I return to make sure he has applied himself properly." There, he thought, examining the small disappointed face. Good. That was the look of chagrin that said Freddy had finally made his peace with the idea that he wasn't going. Setting a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of the faunt, Bilbo could feel a pounding headache coming on. Dis might or might not have been aware that she was not helping, but she was familiar enough by now with Bilbo's expressions to recognize her cue to leave, and did so. From outside a burst of undoubtedly profane Khuzdul came through the window, making Freddy giggle despite obviously having no idea what was being said (thank goodness, Bilbo thought, for it sounded utterly foul).

"Mister Bilbo, are you really going to pay me for work I'm not doing?" Freddy asked, looking suspiciously at the older hobbit as he shoveled eggs into his mouth. 

"Yes, my lad, because it's not your fault that we had to leave so quickly and Thorin won't be in the forge for a bit. Oh good heavens, I almost forgot the forge! When you get a moment, please tell Piggy to make sure it stays closed up until we return. I can't imagine we'll get another smith through here in the next few weeks, but if Thorin should come back to a disordered forge after all his hard work getting it sorted he'll go spare. If someone must open it, tell Piggy everything must be back as it was found or on his head be it. Now let me write that note to the Exchange for Fortinbras and I'll make a notation that you're to be paid your wages until my return." He cast a critical eye at the faunt. "Though I expect you to save your money and not go on a spending spree, young sir." A muffled giggle was the only reply he got, as Freddy had his mouth full. Once he wolfed down the rest of his breakfast, Bilbo held out the letter with the Exchange note inside. "Now, stop by the Greenfields as we discussed, and reassure them that you are still alive and in possession of all your limbs. Once that is done, I trust you to carry this to Tuckborough and give it to the Thain. Can you handle all this?" Freddy nodded, puffing his chest out proudly. "Very good, that's my lad."

"Sir..." Freddy said softly. "I'll miss you." He looked down, seeming embarrassed, then looked up and caught the older hobbit biting his lip. Bilbo knew his thoughts must be clear on his face; it was utterly ridiculous how quickly he'd become fond of this boy he didn't even know a month ago, but there it was. Before he knew what was happening, he had his arms full of faunt and Freddy was hugging him like he was leaving for years.

"I'll miss you too, lad," he said softly. "But we won't be gone long, if the Green Lady is kind. You be a good boy as I know you will, and I look forward to seeing how much you've learned when I get back. Alright?" Freddy nodded solemnly, coal-black curls dancing, but his face was that of a much older boy, a grown hobbit, watching someone leave and not trusting that he would see them again. Green Lady be with us, Bilbo reflected, the loss this poor child has seen in his barely ten years... I hope to get a chance to make it up to him. With a final sniffle and another tight hug, the faunt left after bidding goodbye to Thorin and Dis. Bilbo felt wrecked and yet the day was barely started. At Dis' urging, he put on the mithril chain under his outer clothes ("Just in case") and, feeling a proper adventurer again, strapped Sting to his waist. To think that three years after getting home and swearing he would never leave his smial again, here he went off on another adventure! Sighing and gathering his luggage, he went out to put his things on the cart. He waved to Ham and Rhoda who were in the yard (pretending to work on the hedges in order to gawk at the goings-on up the Hill) and they were off. It was only a two or three day journey to the Blue Mountains, Bilbo thought; how bad could it be?

=

It barely took Bilbo an hour to remember why he had sworn off travel. The sun, which had been so gentle and pleasant in the yard when he had a cool smial to return to, was becoming rather uncomfortably warm. His travel clothes were quite a bit itchier than he remembered, especially while sweating. Three of the ponies were displeased with being on a long trip, it seemed, and were in a sulky mood, though Thorin's seemed unaccountably playful. Since he himself hadn't wanted to ride a pony, he was in the cart, which was turning out to be dusty, unexpectedly splintery, and profoundly uncomfortable in its own right. The cart became even worse when they turned off the hobbit road to Michel Delving to head due west into the mountains. It jounced and shuddered along on the rutted, ill-maintained track and after only an hour his spine complained bitterly at each jolt. Dis' bodyguard Frar was driving, and even he seemed uncomfortable; testimonial indeed to the roughness of the road, given the rock-like constitution of dwarven warriors. Worst of all, Dis was in a vile temper. Bilbo (and, he suspected, everyone else) knew that it had nothing to do with them and that it was most likely worry about the state of her city, but she was behaving in an utterly intolerable fashion. She complained about the speed at which they were moving, she complained about the sun, she complained about the heat. She finally tried to pick a fight with her chief guard Buri over one of the three words that the poor dwarf had spoken since leaving the Hill. That was enough to make Thorin shout at her in Khuzdul which was quite awkward, especially for the poor bodyguards. This didn't cure her temper by any means, but drove her from taking it out on everyone else to brooding furiously but (at least) silently. Honestly, it wasn't much better. The headache that had threatened to appear at breakfast was a constant presence now, like a small, angry goblin banging on his head from the inside. Thorin himself was almost as bad, brows drawn down, glaring at his reins as if the pony had offended him. Bilbo worried about his betrothed; he was still painfully thin, though his recent weeks in Hobbiton had put some flesh back on him. Even so, he was far thinner than he had been in their last journey together. The hobbit's attempts to catch Thorin's eye were futile, and so they all marched off to the west, each immersed in their own unpleasant thoughts.

When they stopped to camp for the night, Thorin and Frar gathered wood, built a firepit and did the heavy lifting while Buri searched the area for any threats (which seemed to be a fancy way of saying 'went to hunt') and Dis sat and sulked. In short order Buri was back with a brace of rabbits and the hobbit was delighted to receive them already gutted, skinned and dressed. He sliced off the meat and set it to boil with some seasoning in his camp pot and groaned as he used the quern to grind some corn for meal to make griddlecakes. Even something so simple was torture with muscles beaten into a pulp by the rattling of the cart. Even so, within an hour he had made a passable dinner by hobbit standards. Judging from the surprise on the guards' faces, it rated as quite a bit nicer by dwarven standards, and they were effusive in their thanks. Thorin thanked him with a smile that made his toes tingle; Dis (of course) merely grunted. Nevertheless, Thorin ate a proper meal so Bilbo felt he had at least accomplished his goals for the night. After cleaning the plates in a nearby stream, he came back to the camp and sank down on a log next to Thorin, who was staring moodily into the fire.

"Good evening," Bilbo said with a smile, as though they hadn't been traveling together all day. Thorin looked over and half-smiled.

" _Mizimel_ , thank you for dinner," he said in a low voice, trying to keep the conversation as private as possible while surrounded by others. Buri was on watch, but Frar and Dis were already curled in their bedrolls. It was as close to privacy as a travel camp could offer. "It is still a great pleasure to be able to eat again." The smile that accompanied this was warm, but Bilbo suspected it was also intended as a distraction.

"I miss my kitchen already, but I'm glad you enjoyed it. It's always a joy to cook for you." Bilbo smiled back, arching an eyebrow. "But if it's not too much to ask, what is bothering you about this? Is it returning to a dwarven city? Returning to this one in particular? Or is it something else?" Thorin's eyes widened for a second before he turned away with a huff of amusement, though one tinged with bitterness.

"The stories were right, as my One you truly do know my whole heart without being told." The sigh that accompanied this was muffled by a curtain of silver-streaked dark hair as Thorin leaned forward. Oh, that's not good, the hobbit thought. When he hides behind his hair... oh dear. "I am fine. Nothing to worry about." Bilbo slid himself along the log closer to the dwarf, grinning at the more-sensed-than-seen nervous glance over at him. He recalled what Thorin had said about public displays of affection, but if worry that he didn't remember would distract his dwarf from his own thoughts, that was certainly acceptable.

"Well, that's a relief," Bilbo said, radiating innocence. "I had worried that you might be upset, or concerned, or even brooding, but if it's nothing to worry about, I'll go back to thinking about dinner." Thorin's sigh of irritation was met with only a giggle. "You sound unconvinced! How could you doubt me? Wouldn't it be just like me to ignore the dwarf I happen to love being upset?" He blinked his eyes in an exaggerated fashion, making his betrothed snort with laughter in spite of himself. "Only..."

Thorin interrupted, grumbling "Yes, fine, you made your point." He stared into the fire again, mouth working a bit and Bilbo sat silently beside him, waiting. Finally, he spoke. "When I left Erebor, I left only to die. There were no next steps, no goals. I had no thoughts beyond hopefully getting to see you one more time and then passing to the Halls of Mahal. There were no worries about potential consequences, for what worries could plague one already dead? Now... That is no longer true." He stared at his hands, as though there was a mystery there. "It is... difficult... to have been a king for so long and now return as a, well, I don't know what exactly. Kings among my people do not step down, so I am not a king any more, but I am not _not_ a king, if that makes sense." He turned towards Bilbo and his blue eyes were burningly intense. "All my life I have known what I needed to do. The only question was whether I was strong enough to do it or not. Now... I do not know my role. And it is strange to me." His fingers twined anxiously around each other. Bilbo nodded; he understood better than a dwarf might suspect.

"And when you turn up, not dead but not king, with a betrothed who isn't even a dwarf, you are worried about how it will be received?" Bilbo chuckled. "You'd be mad if you weren't at least a little concerned." Thorin shook his head stubbornly, but still didn't look up.

"No," he said in a grim voice, "you are the one thing I am not concerned about, my heart. And as long as I have your... affection," silly old dwarf, Bilbo thought in a rush of warmth, you can say _love_ , it's alright. "With that, the rest can be dealt with as I find it." Bilbo rested his hand on Thorin's shoulder. He wanted desperately to embrace him, but he knew that wasn't appropriate, so a hand on the shoulder was all he could get away with.

"Or so you tell yourself," he said softly, pressing his fingers against Thorin's shoulder in as much of a hug as he dared. "But your heart is unsure." Thorin's quick, instinctive refusal turned into a hesitant nod at Bilbo's skeptical glance. "Thorin, I'm here for you, whatever you need me to do. If you need me to be distant, I can be; if you need me to play a role, simply tell me what it is, and I will do my best. I know you and I trust you, so just know that. Whatever we need to do, we will get through it. Together. Alright?" Thorin gazed at him gratefully for a moment, then ducked his head again.

"You are more than I deserve," he whispered. "So much more."

" _Deserve_ is a wretched word," Bilbo said with a smile. "May the Valar protect us all from only getting what we deserve! For none of us are perfect, Thorin. Not me, and not you. We just do the best we can. For my part, I feel lucky as well, as I will tell you every day of my life until you get it through that thick dwarvish skull of yours. I wake up amazed that when I finally fell in love, the one I love feels the same." He knew his whole heart was on his face, but he hadn't a hope of looking any other way. Thorin smiled in spite of himself, and once again gave Bilbo that look of his. "Now tell me what I can expect, and what you'd like me to do."

Thorin gave a humorless chuckle. "I wish I knew," he replied. "We will have to wait and see. The only thing I know for sure is that you will be challenged on being _Khuzdbaha_ , so remember your answers to the challenges. Beyond that we will have to play it as we find it." He leaned unobtrusively against Bilbo, returning the pressure of the hobbit's hand with the side of his body. "I'd rather not think about it now, if it's alright with you. Just... sit with me a bit?" There was no possible answer to that other that 'of course', so there they sat for almost an hour until they both went to bed after soft good-nights. Bilbo hoped the morning would be better for everyone.


	15. Chapter 15

The next day reminded Bilbo so much of being on his earlier adventure he had almost constant deja vu, despite only having four dwarves as accompaniment. Now that he was out of his home, his new understanding of dwarves let him see what his inexperience (and his misery) had not on the long trip before. He recognized the things that were being done, even though the people doing them had changed. There was very clearly a particular way to build a camp, a way to set a fire, a way to chop wood, and whatever dwarf took that job did it in the identical fashion as the others. He remembered Dis sitting in his parlor the first night, saying 'Dwarves are a people governed by rituals, you will find.' Perhaps she was being more honest than he had known at the time. As he cooked breakfast (a hash of leftover rabbit meat and some potatoes he had baked in the embers the night before), he watched. Each action brought back memories of his travels he hadn't even realized he retained. Buri broke down the camp, burying trash exactly in the same way Dwalin or Gloin would have done; Thorin had dug the latrine pit in the same way he had seen dozens of times on his earlier trip with the dwarves to Erebor. The odd looks so many of them had given him during the first part of their trip made more sense in the light of that revelation.

As they were sitting at breakfast, Bilbo glanced at Thorin, determined to test this theory. "When we traveled together before," he said in an offhand fashion, "you all must have thought it odd I didn't know the dwarven way to do things." Thorin nodded absently, forking more hash into his mouth.

"It was strange at first," he said, "but you soon picked up the proper ways. It made no matter in the end," he concluded with a warm smile that was clearly designed to be comforting. Bilbo laughed to himself. Not just the dwarven ways, mind you, the 'proper' ones! That was as clear a confirmation as he had ever heard. He resolved to pay attention when they arrived at the Blue Mountains to how things were done; the less negative attention he drew, the better... though who knew what they were walking into, honestly. Dis was calmer this morning, but clearly was still a ball of nerves. Bilbo could tell from her expression that she was almost certainly spinning worst-case scenarios in her mind. He was all too familiar with the behavior, having been prone to that himself before taking a trip with lunatic dwarves that finally convinced him that what ultimately happened would most likely be stranger than anything he could think up in his own mind. Glancing back at Thorin and catching the dwarf watching Bilbo with a hungry expression, he repeated to himself, definitely stranger than anything he could think up. Not bad, of course. But strange. He smiled as he packed his bedroll.

Once they got on the move, the second day was a longer, more painful version of the previous one's travel. The rutted track went on and on, winding its way westward through overgrown meadows full of tall grass and brambles and small copses of woods. As the afternoon drew on, though, the copses grew closer together and began to resemble a proper forest and the land had gone from the rolling plains of the Far Westfarthing into more proper foothills. The distant mountains weren't so distant any more, though the group pressed on until the early evening. Bilbo got the impression that if he weren't along, Dis would have whipped the group along to travel all night as well, but with ill grace she agreed to a stop. Armed with his new realization, Bilbo recognized the patterns unfolding around himself. He said "I'll get the wood," and went out, bringing back wood and (to test his theory), stacked it in the 'proper' place as Thorin would have it; nobody looked up. On his second trip, he placed the new wood beside the original load in the 'wrong' place, and both Buri and Frar looked at him with similar surprised looks. Ha, he thought, and there we are. Saying "Oh how silly of me," he moved it over to the proper spot and received two identical nods. Since it was no longer interesting (or 'wrong'), they went back to what they were doing. Snickering to himself, he began the process of starting the fire and cooking dinner. Since Thorin was scouting, Bilbo wasn't sure if there would be meat provided or not so he put chickpeas in to soak for a bit near enough the fire to warm but not cook them (yet), and rummaged some preserves out of his luggage, grinding more corn for a second round of cakes (this time as dessert). It turned out there was no meat to be had, so the hobbit made the best of the produce he had brought and chopped carrots, onions and potatoes into the chickpeas and added the leftover cornmeal to make a thick and hearty stew. That combined with the sweetened corncakes made a good meal, though the dwarves grumbled a bit ('no meat is no meal' was one thing Bilbo overheard Frar say before an elbow from Thorin silenced him). Even so, they thanked the hobbit courteously enough. Questions about how much further it was yielded enthusiastic but utterly useless distances (Buri could have been a hobbit with his "It's practically right here, no time at all will have us there!"). He asked Thorin if they would be camping again the next night, but got only a shifty look in return as Dis glared at him. Shaking his head, he went to bed with the rest of them.

Before dawn, everyone was awakened by one of the ponies whinnying loudly. No threat was found, but since they were all awake the decision was made to move on. Dis was practically fuming, urging everyone to hurry. Everything was broken down in record time and Bilbo barely had time to wash the plates and pots from breakfast before they were on the road again. The morning was sunny at first but that quickly gave way to clouds and gloom. As the day went on, the day darkened from the looming overcast skies and the forest (for so the patchy woods had finally become) was dim and gloomy in the muted light. "We might make it by nightfall," she kept insisting. "We're almost to the bound-stone!" She either didn't see or chose to ignore the increasingly dubious looks from the other three dwarves. Bilbo knew it was about to rain; he could smell it on the wind, even in the forest. No farmer would think that this was good travel weather, but Dis was determined. Travel was slowed by the truly horrible condition of the road. By this point it was barely a rutted track winding through the trees. Late in the afternoon, the light sank to a greenish glow. No sooner had Bilbo recognized the signs of a storm coming than with a flash and rumble, a torrent of water fell from the sky. Cursing, they all scrambled to find shelter under the largest tree nearby, leaving the wagon where it stood and hoping that the rain would pass or at least slow. It was not to be. After they had sat there long enough to get thoroughly soaked, Frar sighed and went to fetch the wagon out of the road. The ponies hitched to it were furious at having been left behind, and the roan even twisted its head and tried to bite the dwarf as he passed - Bilbo wasn't sure he could have stood it, though Frar just gave the animal a sour look and kept moving. As night fell more completely Bilbo wasn't sure what to do about food; there was no way to build a fire in such a downpour, even if they were able through some miracle to find wood dry enough to light. Buri produced a bag of cram (and there was a taste Bilbo hadn't missed at all!) and shared it out. They chewed glumly as they sat under the tree in their wet cloaks, listening to the rain drip all around them from the forest canopy above. Lightning flashed periodically, revealing the ponies huddled in a tight group not far away and Bilbo suspected from their dejected appearance they would have been cursing loudly if they could speak. A more miserable night the hobbit couldn't remember since his return. This, he reckoned, was precisely why his neighbors all looked down their nose at him. The idea anyone would voluntarily put themselves into a situation where they would be subjected to such misery was inconceivable to any normal Shire-dweller. Once the light had faded completely, leaving them in the dark, he felt a heavy arm go around him adding another layer of cloak. By scent alone, he would have recognized it as Thorin even if his dwarf hadn't already been sitting beside him all evening. Smiling secretively in the shadows he snuggled into the side of his betrothed. Dwarves were as warm as furnaces and the chill of the rain was quickly driven away. Sleep came quickly.

Bilbo dreamed that night that he was back in the treasury of Erebor with Smaug. The dream began in the same way that his first visit to the treasury had happened, with him coming down the hallway from the secret door and emerging from the high places over the pile of gold. Time was strange in this dream. He remembered bantering with the dragon before, but yet it was happening again. This time, though, Smaug was sitting and waiting for him instead of asleep half-buried in gold. Bilbo tried to run but as sometimes happened in dreams, his legs wouldn't move. Glowing golden eyes trapped him and all he heard was the hissing voice of the dragon. "Are you here for the dwarves?" he asked. "Oh yes, I smell them on you." Smaug had said that, Bilbo remembered, or something similar. Hadn't he? "You're here to try to kill me and take my gold."

"No, not at all," Bilbo said. He opened his mouth, remembering that he was supposed to be clever with words, but nothing came out. He stared up at the looming head with its enormous mouth, fangs glistening, and words fled. "Please don't eat me," he whimpered, overwhelmed.

Smaug laughed, and the laughter was the same. Cruel, rolling over him in a wave of dread and horror, echoing off the columns and gold around him. "Pathetic," the worm said, coiling around him and dazzling him with moving scales. "You think I want to eat you? You? No, little scrap of a thing. I will eat him instead." Bilbo saw Thorin come down the same path he had emerged from and knew that the dwarf had come looking for him. In the way of dreams, he suddenly knew that he had been gone far too long and Thorin had come himself. He tried to cry out to warn him but Smaug was already striking, coils speeding forward and making a hissing, clattering noise against the gold. He awoke with a cry before his dwarf was taken, but his cheeks were wet with tears as well as rain. Sitting in the darkness, pulse racing, he was shaking like a leaf before Thorin's arm drew him close again. A soft whisper of his name was all the dwarf said, but it was enough to reassure Bilbo. He was alive, Thorin was alive, he wasn't in that horrible place. He pressed himself more firmly into the wall of warmth that was Thorin's dozing body and fell into sleep. This time there were no dreams.

As if the next morning weren't miserable enough with everyone cold and out of sorts, the rain continued. Even worse, the pony Dis had been riding was favoring its right foreleg. A quick examination revealed nothing visibly amiss, but Buri decided that it would have to walk unburdened to minimize the chance of hurting it further, so Dis rode with Bilbo in the cart. As they bounced and jounced along the track, she muttered in Khuzdul to herself just at the edge of his hearing. After an hour, the rain had stopped but the muttering was beginning to wear on his nerves terribly. Freddy had been right the night before they left, he snickered in spite of himself; the language really did sound like 'a mouthful of rocks'. Thinking of the faunt made him blindingly homesick for a moment; he truly hoped that Fortinbras was taking care of the boy. Just as he was about to ask Dis to please stop, they came into view of a carved obelisk of stone by the side of the road. Knotwork decorated the sides, but the front facing them bore seven stars over a hammer and anvil. Dis said "Finally!" in a relieved tone, and Bilbo noticed that everyone (even Thorin) seemed to perk up.

"What is that?" he asked in surprise. "I remember the stars and anvil symbol from Erebor, but I thought it was a thing of that mountain." Dis laughed for the first time in days.

"That is the bound-stone that marks the edge of Shahrulbizad. Those are the Stars of Durin, Bilbo," she said smugly. "I would have thought you would recognize them since you named your new roses after them." She grinned at him fiercely. Ah, he thought, so that's why she and Thorin had looked so peculiar when he said that! "The crown of stars are the seven stars Durin beheld when looking into Kheled-zaram, the Mirrormere, the stars that marked him as Firstborn and King. The hammer and anvil are the signs of his house under the stars, for reasons you know. We make; it is our nature." She gazed at him fondly. "Learn it well, it is the sign of the house of Durin. Soon enough, you will be part of that house, and that sign will be yours to wear as well." Frar coughed in surprise, though Buri maintained a stoic face; obviously, this was the first they had heard of the matter. Bilbo suddenly felt self-conscious.

"I see," he said stoically. "Thank you, Dis." Her nod was pleasant enough, though he didn't miss the slight worried look. Beneath the ironbound wheels of the cart, the road suddenly took on a different texture. They were clearly rolling along on cobbles now instead of rutted dirt, and the speed picked up accordingly. Rather than let her slip back into her fretting, he decided to at least try to converse. "Tell me about the city. What is it like?" She frowned for a moment.

"I will tell you now, it isn't grand like Erebor," she said shortly. "We have made a comfortable living here, but it is no palace. We have no gold in these mountains, and not a great deal of silver or tin. Iron and copper is all we have, though there is abundant coal to make steel, and of course we have charcoal from the forests." She proceeded to detail the geology of the area around the Blue Mountains settlement with what Bilbo found to be mind-numbing detail, including ores, relative amounts of each, water supply and access to the same, and by the time she reached the special smelting techniques that were required to extract the copper from the local ores the hobbit was hopelessly lost. When she finally seemed to be winding down, he tried again.

"That's quite fascinating, and thank you for that! Can you tell me, though, a bit about the city itself? How is it laid out, who lives where, sort of thing?" He smiled hopefully, seeing her chagrin as she belatedly realized she wasn't speaking to another dwarf.

"Of course, my apologies for information that probably wasn't of much use to one of your folk. Every dwarven city is laid out in similar fashion." Bilbo fought the urge to grin at this, given his recent realizations about how hidebound dwarves were by hobbit standards. "The levels above the gate are called halls, those below are called deeps. So if something is on the third deep, that means it is on the third level below the gate. This isn't as much of an issue in Shahrulbizad, small as it is, but if you were to see a proper city like Khazad-Dum or Marshikbarzad in the Bone Mountains of Harad it would quickly be overwhelming without knowing this. There is a long passage which leads to a large cavern, which is the market and trade center of the city. Homes line the walls as walkways climb upwards, though the stone here needs careful tending as it is still damaged from the destruction of the western lands long ago. You will be staying with us in the royal quarters, on the third hall behind the audience chamber. Grand name for something that doesn't quite live up to it, I'm afraid... we're a small and provincial city, for all the success that Thorin brought, and we're comfortable enough but hardly rich. You will see." Her face grew grim. "There are chokepoints at the entrance to the mines, the entrance to the main cavern, and a few other places. I hope that they are still holding when we arrive. After almost a week, anything could have happened. At least we haven't seen any refugees, so some part of the city still stands... unless everyone is dead." And with that she would say no more, despite Bilbo's repeated protestations that surely that couldn't be the case. 

The hobbit's worries were beginning to rise. Despite this attempted questioning, he still felt he knew less than nothing; it was a city underground, it was mostly open with checkpoints, dwarves lived there. While he now felt that he was awash in information about things like metals and smelting, he had no sense of the city itself. He cursed himself for not asking Thorin about it during the weeks they had spent at his smial. For all that he had expected Thorin to adapt to life in Hobbiton, he was suddenly confronted with his own ignorance of life in a dwarven city. What did they eat? How did they live? Did they grow their own crops, farm their own animals, spin and weave? Were they comfortable by hobbit standards, or did dwarves lead some sort of ascetic lifestyle? He had no sense from his previous travels, since between being homesick in the first part of the trip and the second part consisting of what Dwalin admirably summed up as 'one damn thing after another' he had little idea of how dwarves lived when they weren't camping. Erebor was no use, since though it was magnificent in its ruin, it had nevertheless been a ruin; if traces had remained of the daily lives of those who lived there, the hobbit had not been privy to them beyond barracks beds and centuries-old cram. There was nothing there that spoke of life, of living, only dust and bones and fragments of a past that even the younger dwarves had never seen.

Scarcely half an hour later, a shout came from the side of the road and a sentry carrying a horn stepped out to halt them. After a quick exchange of passphrases, Dis began grilling the dwarf unmercifully. Bilbo was glad he wasn't involved, because even just out of earshot of the guard's responses it was obvious even to him that the poor sentry had no useful information and that Dis was in a towering rage because of it. As though someone with military secrets would be stood out on a road! Nevertheless, Thorin stepped up to intervene and the sentry almost dropped his horn. With a quiet word, the dwarf blew two short blasts on his horn and waited. After a moment, the signal was returned from somewhere in the distance and the guard bowed and waved the cart on. They followed the road as it passed ahead for a bit and rounded an outcropping, and as they made their way around the curve the city of Shahrulbizad was revealed.

Rocky ground sloped up slightly to a sheer stone face, which had a great gate carved into it. Framing the gate were carvings and friezework cut into the living stone, though nothing on the great gate of Erebor. Instead of statues, two enormous stylized dwarven faces scowled at the road from either side of the gate. The tunnel leading into the mountain was dark in contrast with the weak sunlight through the thick clouds, but there were no signs of danger or even trouble. Several guards were standing at attention outside, and as the cart pulled up and Dis sprang down, the soldiers shouted in one voice " _Yanad Durinul_! _Dis zadanal_!" and brandished their axes. Dis waved but as Thorin dismounted his pony, the leader of the guard troop almost fell over in shock. " _Thorin melhekh_!" came the next shout and confusion enfolded them. Dwarves in armor came running out of the gate, some ran back inside and others cheered. Thorin himself looked deeply uncomfortable, but waved and smiled as best he could; Bilbo could see the pain in his expression and realized that Thorin had understated (typical Thorin!) just how badly he missed the role of king. The hobbit's own presence attracted a few confused looks, but in the chaos of Thorin's unexpected visit, Bilbo suspected he could have been naked and painted bright blue and still would have garnered little attention. Buri and Frar gathered their weapons and took up position in front of and behind Dis and Thorin as proper bodyguards, leaving the cart without a backwards glance. Bilbo hoped that the items in it would be attended, but the group was headed off and he scampered to join them. His likely fate if separated from those who knew him was almost certainly unpleasant, with even the best option likely being a long walk back to the Shire.

His first sight of the city was a shock. They had passed into the tunnel, which turned out to be lit by what looked like flaming torches but which on examination turned out to be made of metal. The tunnel ran straight as an arrow into the mountain for almost two hundred paces, then they passed through a second gate. When they finally came to the city proper, Bilbo couldn't help but make a soft noise of wonder. Unlike the vast arching vertical space of Erebor, Shahrulbizad was a lower, more wide open space, broader across than two party fields, with carved doors and lintels along gently sloping ramps leading upwards. Every surface was either smoothed to a shine or decorated with strong, linear knotwork and carvings. Sculptures of dwarves dotted the walls and railings, or stood surrounded by stone plazas and stalls in the open markets. The stone into which the city was carved was a pale honey color with thick bands and streaks of white and pink and orange, and Bilbo thought it looked as though the city was formed out of a sunset. Copper was everywhere, worked into delicate traceries and forged into swirling metal sconces and decorative braces. It was unbelievably lovely. Giant burnished bronze lamps hung from the ceiling far overhead, casting light in all directions like dozens of small suns. While the distributed lights made gauging distances difficult, everything was spotlessly clean, and crowds and throngs of dwarves were passing here and there on their way on their daily business. As they came in, a cheer went up, and Bilbo could hear Dis and Thorin's names being echoed through the massive chamber. The only thing that made him feel odd was that there were no growing things; not a trace of green could be seen anywhere. No leaves, no flowers, nothing that grew was even represented in the art, though he was pleased to see one dwarrowdam in a long skirt go by carrying a basket piled high with vegetables. He also became aware of a constant draft; something was moving the air, though he couldn't see what, and there was always a gentle breeze blowing with fresh air to keep smoke or smells from lingering. "This is beautiful," he half-whispered as he looked around. "I had no idea."

"It's alright," Thorin responded as they moved along, shocking the hobbit who had no idea anyone could hear him. "Comfortable enough I suppose, though not much as cities go. We made a decent life here for a while, but..." Bilbo gaped at him, completely taken aback. Thorin glanced at him, then looked over in concern at his dumbfounded expression. "What?" Bilbo glanced at Dis but she was totally devoted to a whispered conversation with some military official.

"Alright?" Bilbo sputtered. "Not much? Thorin, this is a perfectly lovely city! I had no idea what to expect, and this is amazing! I had never dreamed that you might live in such luxury here, as much of a hurry as you lot were in to return to Erebor." It was Thorin's turn to look confounded.

"It's..." he looked about again, seeming to wonder if he was missing something. "Luxury? I... As I said, comfortable enough but it's hardly anything noteworthy. We don't even have gold here. Fairly rough as such things go, really." Understanding seemed to dawn. "Ah, you never saw Erebor when it was alive! You only saw it when we first took it back. You've never seen another dwarven city, no wonder you think this is good, then." Bilbo found the smug look a bit galling and unpleasant, and cut his eyes at his dwarf.

"Yes, I suppose perhaps my view from the Shire is a bit uninformed and provincial," he said waspishly, regretting it as soon as it was out of his mouth. "I'm sorry, that wasn't nice. Still, this is ever so much better than I had feared we might find. There doesn't look to be any goblin problem either." They both looked around at the bustling city of several thousand dwarves. Thorin looked a bit disturbed as he glanced around at the throngs in motion about them, all discreetly eyeing Thorin and Dis as the small group passed through the city but showing no sign of worry or upset.

"No," he murmured, "there certainly does not."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Yanad Durinul_ \- Sons of Durin  
>  _Dis zadanal_ \- Dis the ruler  
>  _Thorin melhekh_ \- Thorin the king


	16. Chapter 16

Following along behind Dis, Bilbo felt as out of place as he had in quite some time. For one thing, being a hobbit he was shorter than most of the dwarves, so his perception of where he was going was constrained by being surrounded by taller people. Secondly, they were moving at a fair rate of speed, passing through crowds. A statue would suddenly loom up, invariably a dwarf, usually either in a warlike pose or crafting something, and they would pass by it without a glance. It pained the hobbit to go past so quickly; he felt that it was almost disrespectful to the art itself to race past it, but off they went. Dis was still deep in discussion with her counselor, and a few others had appeared as if by magic from the crowds or out of side passages, so that they had become a veritable troupe being swept along behind Dis and Thorin. The original group of four dwarves and a hobbit now numbered twenty or more, with several clearly important dwarves and their retinues. And me, the hobbit thought regretfully. After his brief conversation with Bilbo, Thorin had been sucked into the discussion with the officials, who all seemed to know him very well already. No mention was made of Bilbo that he could tell, nor did anyone give more than a glance to the hobbit puffing along with them as they went... wherever they were going, he thought sourly. He did notice that instead of heading up (hadn't Dis said that the royal quarters were in the third hall? Didn't that mean three levels above the gate?) they were headed down. Not via staircases, thank goodness, but the ramps and halls they were taking led further and further into the deep places of the mountain. Lamps were just as common, but Bilbo noticed that there were no open flames here, no torches burning, not even a candle, just smooth glowing orbs of crystal hanging in metal cages from the smooth ceilings. The carvings had dropped away too, at first becoming less complex and then just vanishing, leaving only smooth stone. These halls weren't as clean as the areas above, though they were far from filthy. Still, dust and occasional cobwebs were visible where nothing of the sort had appeared in the markets. Down they went, and then even further down, until Bilbo half-fancied he could feel the mountains pressing down on him, a feeling he hadn't had since Gollum's cave. In a burst of brighter light, the passage opened up into a room.

For the first time, signs of conflict were visible. Smears of blood were tracked across the floor, and soldiers stood beside barricades which had been erected across the room in front of an arched gate. The gate was open at the moment, but beyond it the smoothed tunnels and floors suddenly ceased, giving way to a tunnel of rough, chiseled stone leading into the darkness. Even worse, sprays of black blood (and some dried red as well) filled the floor and were painted up the walls and across both sides of the gate, testifying to something - or someone - having been decapitated. Nothing else could provide that range of blood spray, the hobbit thought queasily. There was a lingering half-noticeable stink of goblin which Bilbo remembered from the warrens under the Misty Mountains; not a smell he remembered kindly, either. Soldiers lounged in the room, laying around on pallets which showed they had clearly been here a while. Several were on watch at the gate itself. When the party appeared, they all sprang to attention, those which had been lying about leaping up to salute. " _Yanad Durinul_!" came the familiar cry but both Dis and Thorin waved their hands in an identical motion, visibly obviating the need for protocol. The two began interrogating the squad leader almost immediately. For his part, Bilbo was imagining a wave of goblins pouring out of the gate in front of them and shivered when a pleasant voice from nearby startled him.

"How comes one of the Shirefolk to be here, of all places?" He looked over and saw a cheerful looking old dwarf smiling over at him with a quizzical look. His thinning grey hair had been cropped short, something Bilbo had never seen in a dwarf before, but his beard was vastly long and bushy and was so elaborately braided that it seemed to be almost a second dwarf of its own. Both the beard and its owner were richly clad, with clothes of fine quality in somber colors and beads of gold and silver. He wore earrings of gold as well, and a ring set with a huge red stone. The dwarf bowed slightly. "Khim, son of Vim, at your service."

"Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo Baggins, at yours and your family's," the hobbit responded automatically, bowing in turn. As he straightened, he saw the dwarf's eyes track to the bead over his ear and change somehow. He didn't look less friendly, exactly, but something was clearly different.

"You wear the bead of a _Khuzdbaha_ ," the dwarf said diffidently. "How rare! How exotic! And how proud you must be, not many are so privileged. You must tell me the story sometime of how you came by such an honor, but I suppose that would explain how you are so deep in our home, where outsiders do not come. Not invited visitors, at any rate," this last said with a sardonic glance at the blood-smeared gate in front of them. "Still, one never knows who will come or what will go on; life is just one long set of surprises, don't you find?" Wide brown eyes blinked at the hobbit as if in amazement. As Bilbo struggled to figure out what answer might be appropriate to this stream of consciousness ramble, the dwarf asked, "But who knows what things look like to you? They might look different to me, or to someone else entirely! After all, what does a dwarf see?"

Bilbo had anticipated this question for days, and before he consciously thought about it his mouth spoke the response. "The eyes of dwarves look backwards." Khim grinned widely, though his eyes didn't look overwhelmingly pleased.

"They do indeed, they do indeed. Welcome, then, though you catch us at a bad time, I'm afraid, but we can't all choose our circumstances! Now I truly am puzzled, I must confess. How did one of the Shire come to be _Khuzdbaha_? I didn't think there were any left with that title in the north of the world, though in the south, Far Harad, Umbar, well, who knows what those fellows do, hmm?" Khim waggled his eyebrows conspiratorially, eyes looking left and right so dramatically it made the hobbit want to giggle but his nose was twitching with suspicion. Bilbo had been poised to answer the second challenge, especially since Khim hadn't seemed overpleased at his correct response, so he was left floundering a bit.

"Well, I, that is, I went with Thorin and the others to reclaim Erebor, you see, and I..." Khim cut him off in astonishment.

"Oh? Oh, you're _that_ Shireling! Mahal's glowing hammer, that means you're the burglar! How did I not realize? My apologies, my deepest apologies for doubting you. You are welcome here at any time, and now I do not worry about our circumstances." Bilbo was shocked; Khim's whole demeanor had changed, and he was now just as friendly, even more so, than he had seemed at first. "If only we had known that King Thorin was bringing you, well, we should have been better prepared, we might have..." A deep voice interrupted him.

"Do I hear my name being spoken? Ah, Lord Khim, are you bothering my friend?" Thorin appeared as if by magic, sliding in beside Bilbo and smiling... no, Bilbo thought, not smiling. His teeth were definitely showing, but that couldn't be properly said to be a smile at all. The other dwarf smiled back, looking as thrilled as a child presented with a cake. The hobbit suddenly realized that these were political waters he knew nothing about at all.

"Bother? Oh I hope not! Do tell me, kind burglar, that you were not bothered! I only sought to be friendly." The blinking innocent look was almost a caricature of what a normal person might use. Bilbo had to admit, even with the rough and tumble humor of the dwarves he had traveled with, he had never seen a dwarf behave like this. Khim... _Lord_ Khim?... had almost a clownish way about him, though his mercurial shifts were constant and a bit off-putting. Bilbo shook his head and made polite noises, at which Khim beamed. "There, you see? No bother was declared or suffered! But Prince Thorin... King Thorin, excuse me... I was just saying, we had no idea such a noble and surely busy dwarf as yourself might appear, all unexpectedly! Just when we need military leaders, too, it is as though Mahal himself had plucked you up from Erebor and delivered you to us at the time of our greatest need! And you even brought the burglar, truly, truly..." he chuckled avuncularly, though Bilbo didn't miss the tightening around Thorin's eyes and the sudden tension of his hands. "I'm sure you'll have this goblin problem resolved before the week is out and we may have a proper feast, of welcome, of victory, of celebration for our new _Khuzdbaha_... who knows what else we might need to celebrate?" His eyes tracked across Bilbo again and Thorin's tension stepped up again. Nevertheless he gave a strained laugh.

"Khim, I've known you for over a century, and you always were prone to size the lode before it got assayed! Let's get the goblins cleared before we start celebrating, what say you?" Thorin's tone was jovial; his expression was not. The older dwarf laughed delightedly, as though Thorin had just told a particularly funny joke and nodded.

"Yes, yes, but I have faith in you. You're the very image of your father, you know, and Thrain would never let such a piddling thing remain an obstacle for a moment!" and Bilbo heard Thorin hiss. He surreptitiously stepped a bit closer to him, which seemed to calm Thorin enough to reply.

"My father was himself, as I am my own dwarf as well. Surely my sister needs your counsel, having been here while she was away. So nice to see you; if you will excuse us, Bilbo should meet some of the others present." Bilbo fought to keep his eyes from cutting to Thorin; they were acting like this was a party or social event, instead of visiting a recent battlefield. Still, the heavy hand on his shoulder guided him firmly away from the chuckling lord. "I am sorry to have left you alone to face such a serpent, _mizimel_ ," Thorin whispered as they passed towards the other side of the room. "He plays the fool, but beware... he is anything but."

"Yes," Bilbo muttered, "I gathered that after about the fifth subject change." Thorin's snort of surprised amusement drew the attention of a huge old dwarf standing nearby in heavy armor. Thorin dragged the hobbit over in front of the massive dwarf who looked like a mountain clad in steel plates. An enormous moustache bound in iron rings hung almost to his waist, though his beard was only of middling length. Bushy, curly white hair was clamped back tightly with more iron. He had heavy rings on each finger of both hands, but curiously enough they seemed to be made of steel and engraved with the runes of Daeron instead of having stones set in them. How odd, the hobbit thought. An axe as large as Bilbo was slung over his back, though he had two other dwarves with him carrying books and papers.

Thorin grinned, and this was a proper smile unlike the face he had showed Khim. "Vurn, I want you to meet the burglar. This is the hobbit who went with us to Erebor, the one who confounded the dragon and helped win back our home." Thorin stood back, smiling widely as Bilbo spluttered.

"Vurn, son of Khamur, at your service," the old dwarf said in a voice like rocks grinding together. He bowed much deeper than Khim had done. "It's an honor to meet one from the songs in person. See you were made _Khuzdbaha_ , and a good thing too. Won't waste your time with the questions, never a one deserved it more than the only non-dwarf in a thousand years to give a damn about us or help us without a steep price!" 

"Oh! I... uh..." Songs? What foolishness was this, Bilbo thought. "Bilbo Baggins son of Bungo Baggins, at yours and your family's! The honor is mine, sir." The old dwarf laughed uproariously.

"Och, Thorin, he's a prize! So polite. Saw you over there talking to that bileworm, burglar... watch out for him. More dangerous than the goblins, that one. Burglar or not, he'll steal the smalls off your jewels if you turn your back on him." Another loud snort of laughter, this time with Thorin's chuckle to accompany it.

"Vurn, one of these days he'll call you out," Thorin said with a grin.

"Not bloody likely he will, 'less he wants my family's name tattooed on his gurning face!" The old dwarf said, flashing a fist full of steel rings. Oh, Bilbo thought. So that's what they're for. "More likely to poison my food, snake that he is. Try it anyway. Still, he ain't got me in almost two hundred years, doubt it will be today. If I catch any of those weasels of his snoopin' around my forges, they'll go in the coal chute and that'll be that!" Vurn slammed his rings together, making a sound like two armies meeting. Thorin laughed and clapped the enormous smith on the shoulder while turning to Bilbo.

"Ironlord Vurn is one of our master-smiths," Thorin said. "More like _the_ master-smith, truly. His works are widely known, even as remote as Shahrulbizad is here." Bilbo racked his memory... someone had mentioned an Ironlord Vurn. Hadn't it been Dis? The old dwarf grunted in response to Thorin and waved off the praise.

"You'd have surpassed me in less than twenty years, boy, if you'd just set yourself to it," the giant dwarf said. "You know it and I know it. But kind of you to brag on me, even if it isn't warranted." The huge bulk of the smith turned to look down at the hobbit, who hadn't felt this small since Laketown. "Master Bilbo, you're a champion of our people, and it's an honor to meet you. Stop by my forges any time." With that, he stomped off, calling orders in his growling voice to the two dwarves hurrying along behind him. Thorin let out his breath in a sigh.

"He liked you," Thorin said. "Vurn's a keen judge of character and I knew he'd want to meet you. Glad that went well. He's important here."

"He reminds me of Dain," Bilbo said. Thorin's laugh in response was loud enough that several of the dwarves around looked over. Bilbo noticed that Dis was now talking to Khim on the other side of the chamber and that she looked almost as vexed as Thorin had done.

"Mahal is kind, to keep the two of them so far apart," he finally said, once he had stopped laughing. "Together, they'd be too dangerous for anything, we'd have to send them away for the safety of the world. With the two of them to encourage each other, I expect each of them would have tried to headbutt the dragon instead of shoot it, and so doomed us all. Always assuming they didn't decide the first thing to do was to have a brawl in the middle of the floor to see which of them could take first go at it." Bilbo gave a slight start; now he remembered.

"Is this the same Ironlord Vurn whose daughter Dis said you might have married?" he asked innocently. Thorin's reaction didn't disappoint. A crimson flush went up his face and he glared at the floor as though it had insulted him terribly.

"That was never my idea," he finally growled, "though I will drop a rock on Dis for telling you about that. One of my father's worst ideas, and he had many bad ones." Bilbo grinned over at his dwarf.

"If she's anything like her father, I'm surprised she didn't knock you out and put you in her pocket," he said. Thorin glared for a second, then laughed in spite of himself, shaking his head.

"Mahal's beard, where is my proper hobbit? I bring you to a dwarven city for an hour and you've become a dwarf!" He looked away, grimacing. "She probably could have. She was terrifying. And yes, she looked exactly like her father." He grinned. "Luckily for me, she had no interest in me at all. Said I was 'too puny', even if I was a prince." The memory made Thorin get a sideways grin that Bilbo found ridiculously charming.

"Well, thank goodness I don't have to fight her for you," Bilbo said, voice pitched low enough only Thorin could hear. "Because you're quite enough for me." The look that he got in response practically curled his toes up backwards, and he almost reacted before remembering where they were and that they were most likely being watched. "Let's resume this conversation when we aren't quite so public," he said in the same tone. Thorin stiffened and then nodded. Just then, Thorin's stomach growled loudly. "Someone's hungry," Bilbo said before drawing himself up in horror. "You didn't eat! Thorin! Green Lady of Leaves, you didn't eat last night and I didn't even think to feed you this morning! Why didn't you say something? I..." He realized he was getting louder as Thorin made frantic shushing motions, and Dis' eyes cut sharply to them across the room from where she was speaking with two others. Not to be dissuaded, though determined to be more quiet, Bilbo hissed through gritted teeth, "If you don't tell me in the future when you need to eat, I swear before the Valar themselves I will make you regret it, Thorin Oakenshield. Now take me somewhere I can make you some food." Thorin's sour expression in response did nothing to reduce Bilbo's zeal to get him fed, by force if necessary.

Despite his strong determination to feed Thorin, it was not quite so simple. They were stuck in the deeps at the bloody door (in both senses, Bilbo sighed) for over an hour while Thorin introduced him to this important dwarf and that until all of the names and faces and titles started to blur together. It was odd seeing Thorin be properly social, though according to a different set of rules. Bilbo felt as out of place as a songbird in a rookery, but Thorin had clearly been navigating these waters since long before the hobbit was even born, with a kind word and clap on the shoulder here, a sarcastic comment or veiled threat there. The king Bilbo had never gotten to see was on display, and it was fascinating (and, he admitted if only to himself, more than a bit titillating). From what the hobbit was able to piece together, there had been two goblin attacks so far; the first one was the surprise one that killed a number of miners. That attack was more damaging for being unexpected despite the smaller numbers of goblins. It seemed to have been only a scouting party, and many escaped despite being driven off. There followed a second, more numerous one a few days afterwards. The second attack came when the dwarves were ready, though, so the goblins had come pouring out of the tunnel ahead directly into a heavily armored contingent of soldiers who slaughtered them with brutal efficiency. The few survivors fled back into the tunnels, but nobody knew what was below. Officially word had been issued that the goblins were dealt with, which explained the lack of concern in the city above, but that announcement was uncertain as to its accuracy (a state of affairs Bilbo thought rather dangerously short-sighted). Nobody challenged his status as dwarf-friend with Thorin standing beside him, though many a set of eyes caught the iron bead and looked at him in a different way, not always friendly. Thorin always introduced him as 'the burglar', which seemed to be a title known to all the dwarves here. He received much effusive praise, though he hardly felt he deserved it; his little escapade with the Arkenstone seemed not to have made it into the stories, somehow, and he was glad of that. The only acknowledgement of Thorin's unusual departure from Erebor came from one gruff old Stonelord who looked him in the face and grunted "Heard you left the throne. Thought you were supposed to be dead." 

Thorin's casual dismissal of the statement with "Don't believe everything you hear" spoke more to his training than his calmness, and Bilbo couldn't miss his sudden tension. A worry he hadn't had until now suddenly gripped him. When Thorin first appeared at his door, thin and bedraggled as a stray cat, the dwarf had seemed happy enough to stay. With all the revelations about why and the longing and all the side effects, it was no wonder, and Bilbo still couldn't believe his overwhelming good fortune that Thorin actually cared about him. Still, Bilbo was forced to wonder: was it right for him to expect Thorin to live with him in the Shire as a smith? Watching his dwarf in this situation, it drove home quite effectively what Thorin would be giving up to do so. If he had hated these sorts of things, it would be one thing, but it was as plain as the hair on Bilbo's feet that his dwarf loved it, lived for it, was born to be king. Dis' occasional glances at them were smug, as though she was seeing the same thing Bilbo was, though with a different feeling about it. The more he thought about it, the more wretched he became, because there was no way he could offer Thorin... all this. Even if he were so inclined, there was nowhere in the Shire that offered this sort of environment, and Bilbo had no interest in living this sort of life. For goodness' sake, he had laughed at Fossy when he became Thain, teasing him that now his life would be one long set of boring parties and positioning conversations. It never occurred to Bilbo that he might fall in love with someone who thought that sounded like a good time. He hoped he wasn't being selfish, but he feared that perhaps he might be. Would it better for Thorin to be free to do this? What right did he have to keep his dwarf from something that he was clearly born to do? His own heart would break beyond repair, but he was used to being alone... the more he thought about it, the more miserable he became until it was difficult to even pretend politeness on the rare occasion that someone spoke to him beyond the introductions.

By the time the seemingly interminable impromptu party was done, Bilbo's heart was in his feet and he felt hungry himself. He could only imagine how miserable Thorin must be, not having eaten since the previous morning. For his part, Thorin didn't seem to notice Bilbo's sudden unease and discomfort. When they joined up with Dis and their guards (plus a few more for Thorin, since as royalty he required his own) they made their way all the way back up to the main hall and then up, through an astonishingly lovely pillared hall and into the royal quarters. Bilbo barely even registered the beauty of the audience chamber; all his attention was on his inner turmoil. Nevertheless, no sooner had they gotten inside than he got a grip on himself. Worry later, he sternly admonished himself, food first! He planted himself in front of Dis where she was chatting with Thorin about their respective conversations below. "Dis, sorry to interrupt, but Thorin hasn't eaten since yesterday and I'm a bit peckish myself. Please direct me to a kitchen where I can fix... something. I hope there are at least some ingredients here, I don't know where my luggage is, and I didn't bring..." Her stern look interrupted his new descent into worry.

"You don't need to cook here, we can send for anything you..." she stopped herself, glancing at Thorin, whose face suddenly was grim and closed. "No, I suppose we can't, can we? Well this will be interesting. Come, I will introduce you to Colmu. The two of you will have to make your peace about the kitchen, I'm afraid, and I can't help you. We're all completely under her thumb, you'll find." She sighed and... Bilbo could barely believe his eyes. Dis had squared her shoulders as though she was going into battle. This Colmu person must be truly fearsome! He swallowed past a suddenly constricted throat, but gamely trotted along behind the dwarrowdam as she led him through a surprisingly large suite of rooms. Metal sconces and lamps were everywhere, and the carvings here were exquisite; even his worries seemed less when there was simply so much to see, but he knew food came first. Eventually they ended up in front of a barely noticeable stone door made to sit flush with the wall. Dis took a deep breath and pushed it open.

Bilbo peered through into a kitchen that was both different than anything he'd ever encountered and as homey as anywhere he had seen in the dwarven city. It smelled amazing, and everything in view was well used and clearly loved. Bundles of herbs and slabs of smoked meats hung from the ceiling, with a dizzying profusion of dried string sausages to one side that made Bilbo's mouth water just seeing them. A huge chopping table dominated the center of the room, with two dwarves mincing herbs industriously, elbows in and heads down. They didn't even look up as the door opened. Two large stoves were set on one side, near an enormous hearth big enough to roast an entire boar, complete with an array of spits and pokers. Bins nearby held a variety of woods and charcoals. Pots and pans lined racks along another wall and hung from cleverly designed iron hooks over the stoves. Sitting on a chair near the hearth was the tiniest dwarf Bilbo had ever seen. She was almost hobbit-sized, and old and wizened as a dried apple. Her thin white hair was pulled back in a no-nonsense bun and wispy white strands of beard hung from her chin. She didn't seem to have many teeth left but Bilbo thought that he had never seen such a cheerful looking dwarf in his life. Bright, dancing black eyes peered out over seamed cheeks, and she smiled broadly, showing off the few teeth she had left. "Och, it's little Dis! How's my girl?" she said in a crackling voice that made Bilbo instantly homesick. Dis was... blushing? Bilbo goggled for a moment, then turned back to the elderly dam. She turned to look at him, surprised, and her quick eyes covered him hair to feet in no time. "And who's this, then? One of the Shirelings, and _Khuzdbaha_ to boot? Surely too important to be traipsing around in my kitchens! Now, I'm Colmu, and I've been cook to this lot for what seems longer than this mountain has stood, so what can I fix for you, laddie?"

Bilbo was taken completely aback, but finally bowed gamely and said "Bilbo Baggins, at your service, madam, and it's a pleasure to meet you. I was just..." Anything further was interrupted by her hooting laugh, throwing back her head with wispy beard flying all over.

"Madam! How d'ye like that? Such manners on the boy! I'm no madam, I'm just Colmu, Master Bilbo-Baggins-at-my-service! But I'll fix you food to suit your tastes, whatever they might be. Your lot like your vegetables, don't you? Came at the right time, I've a lovely bunch of fresh-gathered turnips and some beets as well, and carrots fit for a king." She twisted her head around to peer at him and Bilbo realized that her back was humped from age, making her seem shorter than she would have been. "We're big on roots down here, y'see, they grow under the ground and we do as well!" Her laugh was infectious and he found himself joining in, utterly charmed by the ancient cook.

"I actually came to ask permission to use your kitchen," he said, bowing his head as he would to any Shire matron. "I know it's a lot to ask, I do," he went on hurriedly, before the sharp breath she took in turned into sharp words, "and your food will be a delight I look forward to experiencing, but there are... special considerations, and I... please, missus, it would be an honor and privilege to cook beside you." She stopped and pursed her lips, visibly swallowing the words of outrage that were right at the tip of her tongue. Sharp black eyes peered at him closely, making him feel like he was being examined by a bird, before she finally nodded slowly.

"You're a bold one to ask me to share my kitchen, but even old as I am I can't imagine my girl would hire a Shireling cook to replace me. Just what 'special considerations' are we talkin' about?" Her eyes cut to Dis, whose face was stricken but who was engaged in determinedly studying the ceiling, looking to Bilbo like nothing so much as a naughty faunt caught pilfering. Bilbo was at a loss to answer. He knew that the last thing Thorin wanted was to have word get out of his current condition, no matter how loudly he might protest his love in private, but he wasn't sure how else to answer. Some of his helplessness must have shown on his face, because Colmu looked back at him and squinted, then chuckled deep in her chest. "Hmm. Or is it a case of certain hands make the food taste better?" she asked softly, eyes almost vanishing in a web of amused wrinkles.

"Something like that, yes," Bilbo muttered, twisting his fingers together. He hadn't felt so naked since being stared at by his own grandmother long ago. She cackled again, clasping her hands to her breast and throwing back her head as far as her back would let her. Still chuckling, she wiped her eyes.

"I see! I don't suppose I need to know any more about that, then, none of my business. But I'll tell you this," she said as she leaned over and gripped Bilbo's shoulder, and by the Green Lady, that hand might look like a bag full of walnuts but she was _strong_. She stared directly into his eyes to make her point. "You'd best know your way around a kitchen proper, because if you dent my pans or dull my knives you'll soon find I'm not too old to wear your hide out, _Khuzdbaha_ or no. Understood?" He gulped and nodded.

"Yes ma..." her look stopped him dead, and he tried again, "Yes, Colmu." She beamed.

"Well, there's that settled, then. So long as you don't get in the way, we'll see how it goes. So, now... what will you fix? Tell me yours and I'll tell you mine and mayhap we'll both learn something worth knowing. You can go, Dismu, leave us to it and we'll have you fed soon enow," she said over her shoulder and Dis took the opportunity to flee. Bilbo grinned until a gimlet black eye pinned him in place. "Don't laugh at folks, boy, it's not right. Now, let's see about some food!" And with that, his tour of the kitchen and pantry began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm inventing Khuzdul, sorry. For purposes of the story, -du is the masculine diminutive, -mu is the feminine, so "Dismu" is "little Dis", and Colmu's name is actually Col, though nobody calls her that on pain of pain, I'm quite sure :)


	17. Chapter 17

Within five minutes, Bilbo realized that he was in the presence of a cook at least the equivalent of anyone from the Shire. Talking nonstop about food (and who knew dwarves knew so many ways to prepare potatoes?) she delivered a stream-of-consciousness ramble that nevertheless imparted a tremendous amount of information and made it memorable. Colmu's twisted back slowed her not a whit, she scuttled along in an odd but quick movement and Bilbo found himself hard pressed to keep up. Shortly, he had been shown the pots and pans, the knives, received both a lecture on knife care that would have warmed the heart of his father and several threats of unspecified but dire consequences if she caught him misusing a knife that would have warmed the soul of his mother, and been given a graphic warning about the well in the corner. "If you fall in, we'll never find you, and one day, when they pull up water to make the bread, won't be naught left but a skull in the bucket!" Looking at the rimless hole with the bucket beside it, he shivered a bit, but nodded. She grinned her near-toothless grin and then launched into a tour of a pantry that was large and decently well-stocked (though certainly not enough to throw a party in Hobbiton). Bilbo wondered if food was an issue here. Even so, there were onions and potatoes, beets and turnips, carrots and yams... Colmu clearly meant what she had said about roots, he had to admit. A dizzying array of pickles and preserves lined shelves along one wall. What was missing to his eye was any fresh produce... short of two firkins of dried apricots and a barrel of apples that looked like they had been there longer than was strictly good for them, there were none of the leafy vegetables or brassica he was used to from the Shire, and not a fresh fruit in sight.

Boxes of grains were stored on one side, ready to be ground in a handy quern. Several wheats, a nice rye, some dodgy looking buckwheat... He ran a few kernels of the different wheats through his fingers, finally tasting a grain of one he didn't recognize. "Cram," he said in surprise, eyeing the grains. She laughed delightedly.

"Aye, that were quick enow," she said, "yes, Durin's spelt, we call it. One of the few wheats we grow ourselves, hardy and grows nigh anywhere, but best of all it never goes bad. Makes cram, as you said, but we also put it in a cake or two for rapid eatin'. That flat taste cuts the sharp from not-quite-ripe persimmons, you'll find. Not the best bakin' flour, bit fiddly and tetchy I find it, but once it's cooked it'll never spoil." He nodded, distracted by the musty taste that had so many memories attached to it. So that's how they do it, he thought. With a shock, he remembered that Thorin was sitting hungry and waiting for food in the other room. And here I am swanning about the kitchen like I have nothing to do, Bilbo cursed himself. His focus shifted immediately. What can I fix quickly, he wondered.

"I'm sorry, I'd love to see the rest, but I have to fix something for Thorin. If he doesn't eat..." Colmu's mouth had popped open in shock, and he stopped, wondering what he had said.

"Thorin? My Thorindu is here?" She looked briefly taken aback, then got a look Bilbo recognized from his recent experiences with Thorin. To someone who wasn't learning dwarf body language the brief narrowing of eyes and setting of the jaw could mean anything, but to Bilbo it was clear: she was deeply hurt. In an instant, he had a strong suspicion that he knew what she was thinking. If she hadn't reminded him so much of his own grandmother he would never have assumed he knew her mind, but he nodded and his own mouth firmed into a hard line.

"Wait here," he said shortly. "I'll be right back." She looked at him in vague alarm as he strode determinedly back out through the understated door and fetched Thorin by the arm, dragging him towards the kitchen while ignoring his protestations. Luckily the others who had accompanied them to their quarters had dispersed and the two siblings were alone in the sitting room. Dis looked at him as though he had gone mad but Bilbo was too focused to notice or care. He was hissing words as he hauled his dwarf along. "Thorin Oakenshield, you will come in here and you will speak to this dear old lady who has missed you terribly! You come back here and you don't even go speak? What is wrong with you?" Thorin's panicked expression of guilt and awkwardness vanished as Bilbo half-shoved him through the kitchen door. The kitchen workers looked up from the table in astonishment at the sight of the hobbit hauling a king of the dwarves around, before a barked word from Colmu had their eyes back down on the table again.

"Colmu?" Thorin said gently. "I'm not back for long, but..." Anything else he was saying was lost in a flurry of motion and a happy squawk. Her arms were around him as high as she could reach, her face pressed to his chest with a loud sound of delight. A flood of Khuzdul in her crackling voice was forthcoming, with Thorin looking both affectionate and overwhelmed while Bilbo smiled at the reunion. Food, he reminded himself. He swiftly looked back at what he was doing and selected a skillet to put on the stove. A quick glance around spotted a bin of garlic, and into a dollop of bacon fat went two cloves after a quick mince. Colmu glanced over and gave a grudging nod but couldn't resist her guest; while Bilbo cooked she went back to catching up with someone she clearly considered her own child. By the time he had diced some potatoes and onions and set them to frying, Thorin was telling the story of their adventures in Erebor but the old dwarrowdam was still staring at the king as though she were drinking him in with her eyes. Their quiet conversation was a counterpoint to Bilbo's selection of a sausage to sliver and add. He didn't want to interrupt and knew better than to think the kitchen staff were allowed to speak (a safe bet if they got in trouble for even looking up) so he picked one that seemed likely and hoped for the best. It turned out to be a heavily spiced venison, rich and gamy, which made him wish for time to make a proper sauce. A liberal dash of salt and pepper topped the dish up, and he examined the other spices set nearby but didn't want to risk food he had confidence in when he knew Thorin was most likely starving. He wished he had time to make a proper meal but it was not to be; any food was better than no food and a promise when the belly was empty.

Plating up a healthy portion, he nibbled a bit from the pan to make sure it was good (fighting a momentary terror that he had ruined it somehow and not known) but it tasted exactly as it should, the blandness of the potato more than offset by rich sausage and nicely complemented by the onions, bacon fat and pepper. He brought it over to Thorin with a wedge of bread from a loaf on the table, and his dwarf took it with a sheepish expression at Colmu but immediately began wolfing it down. Colmu's eyes widened in shock as she looked from Thorin to Bilbo, but that didn't stop her from snatching a piece of well-browned potato off his plate and chewing it thoughtfully, then grunting. He forced down his instinctive reaction to her stealing food; much easier since he was so clearly far from the Shire. She hummed a bit then said "Not quite enough salt but it'll do," she said grudgingly. Bilbo took the curt statement as high praise, especially considering it was cooked under pressure in a strange kitchen. He suspected if anything was even slightly amiss, he would never have been allowed to serve it to a dwarf who was very clearly the apple of her ancient but fierce eye. "So," she said after a moment, "would anyone care to explain to me why a Shireling has to use my kitchen to fix food for my Thorindu?" Tiny black eyes flicked back and forth, and Bilbo wasn't sure what to say; Thorin immediately packed in more food so he wouldn't have to answer. The hobbit hoped he wasn't about to get flung into the well he had just been warned about. She glared back and forth, looking increasingly irritated. "I'm waiting."

Thorin swallowed audibly then sighed. "You know why," he said quietly. His hand reached out and caressed Bilbo's arm lightly, then withdrew. In the Shire, that would mean nothing, but here it was practically a shout. Colmu's eyes closed for a moment and she shook her head, sighing gustily.

"You always did do things the hardest way possible, lad," she finally said, sounding a bit maudlin. "I suppose I ought to be disappointed; he's hardly a proper dwarf, is he?" She cut her eyes at Bilbo, but then patted the hobbit's shoulder as though to take the sting out of the words. "Nothing against you, boy. My Thorin, are you sure?"

"I did not eat for weeks." It seemed a non sequitur to Bilbo, but she made a short grunt as if punched; clearly to a dwarf, this was everything she needed to hear to understand. Her eyes closed briefly and vanished into a web of wrinkles, though in sadness, horror or prayer Bilbo wasn't certain. Thorin's mouth was smiling but his eyes showed the pain of that slow starvation, even as he ate. After a moment he said "Beyond sure. I'm eating now, aren't I? He is more and better than I deserve." His soft declaration made Bilbo tear up, and his worries of the afternoon seemed silly in the light of such a declaration. Colmu turned to examine him more closely. Finally she nodded, though she still seemed a bit uncertain.

"Well," she sighed, "all I've ever wanted was for you and your sister to find some happiness. It's been long and long since I've seen either of you even seem that way, so if this is what it takes I suppose I've nowt to say about it. He's bold enough, I'll give him that," she said, side-eyeing Bilbo where he stood, "and he seems to know his way around a kitchen, so when I'm gone at least you'll have someone to cook for you." Bilbo sucked in a sharp breath, but let it out again after a moment. While he would have corrected anyone else sharply who spoke about him as if he weren't standing right there, he felt it best to let this pass. He also wanted to learn how to cook the foods Thorin most liked... better not to challenge the one whose knowledge you needed.

"When you're gone? Gone where?" Thorin said laughingly, scraping up the last of the broth from his plate. "You'll outlive us all, Colmu! All the past chefs of the seven clans have petitioned Mahal not to take you because they know you'll take over when you arrive. I've no doubt you're going to be here until the flame goes out." Her hooting laugh came again as she smacked Thorin on the shoulder, making Bilbo smile in spite of himself. Looking at her, he was struck again by how aged she appeared; he had never seen a dwarf who appeared so old, even in the market above, though upon even brief reflection he could hardly claim his experience of dwarves was very wide. He wondered how old she actually was.

She turned to Bilbo and squared herself up as much as she could. He braced himself for anything, but she just nodded once. "Well then," she said in a no-nonsense voice, "mayhap Master... Baggins, was it?... and I have some cooking to do. Now you've et enough not to starve, so go keep your sister from setting fire to the furniture and your fellow and I will cook up a proper meal. Won't we?" The hobbit's nod was quick and definite, and she gave him an approving look before turning back to Thorin, who was looking somewhat at loose ends. "Go on, lad, I'll bring him back in one piece, I promise." Thorin nodded and, with one inscrutable glance at Bilbo, went back outside. Her farewell grin vanished as she turned on the hobbit, hands on hips. Her crackly voice was low but stern. "Now I'll say my piece to you, Master Bilbo Baggins, and then we'll hear no more on it. I raised that dwarf and his sister from tiny pebbles. You likely don't know it but he's been through more troubles than any three people should, and I'll thank you not to add to them. He seems to think you're the answer to what ails him, and I'll not gainsay him, but I will tell you this. I swore when we made it here that I'd not leave this place again, and I haven't, even with Erebor reclaimed, but hear me now: treat him right, boy, or I'll break my vow and find you if I have to drag this old body to Umbar to straighten you out. Understand?" Tiny black eyes flashed in... not anger, he realized, but fierce, desperate love, and he found he couldn't be offended.

"I love him," he said, half whispering it because he felt it so strongly. There was nothing to offer that much protective love except the truth. "I have for years. I couldn't mistreat him if I wanted to, Colmu. He has my whole heart in his hands." She stared into his eyes as he wondered what she would do; what he had said was probably terribly scandalous by dwarven standards but honestly, what else could he say? In the end she nodded once, definitively, and turned away, but not before he noticed that her eyes were suspiciously shiny.

"There's that settled as well, then. Now why are you standing around? There's folk what need feeding!" And with that, they were off. She was surprisingly willing to let him fix his own things, though they talked through what they were making and why. He chopped pickled beets and fresh carrots together, layering them with a sharp white cheese she produced from some hidden larder. She made a casserole with shredded duck meat and sliced potatoes and enough cream and butter to please any hobbit palate; just the smell of it made Bilbo swoon. Barking orders at the kitchen help, she provided him with sliced apples and freshly ground and sifted flour for tarts, and made some sort of pudding to accompany it with beet sugar and some spices that ended an odd shade of bright orangeish-red, but she just smiled when he asked about it. "Come," she said at one point, and walked him through a complicated recipe with turnips, parboiling them in chunks, shredding them, pressing them into cakes with a mix of spices and flour, and frying them in hot oil. He wondered why until she said "My Thorin loves these like he loves breathing. If they have to come from you, so be it, but he should get them while he's here." Recognizing a peace offering when he heard one, he bowed low to her and endured the clap on the shoulder in return that almost sent him flying into the stove.

"Thank you, Colmu," he said, and she seemed to hear the various layers of thanks that were offered. When she scoffed, he went on. "Let me show you something my mother taught me. She swore me to secrecy with it, but I think this is a special case." She looked over at him and half-smiled, hearing what he was saying in turn. His mother's buttermilk biscuits were a small price to pay for a vote of support, he thought. He mixed up a batch of them and set them to bake as they arranged the food for service. A few minutes later they were steaming in a basket and went out with the salad. Thorin tried to get Bilbo to sit and eat, but one glance at Colmu's face told him the likely result of that. "I'm fine, Thorin, we're happy to have you eat, just enjoy. Here, I made these for you." With that, he presented the finished plate of turnip cakes and any lingering suspicion vanished as the usually stoic king's face dissolved into happy smiles. Colmu quietly placed the casserole between the two of them. Ignoring it, Dis' snort of disgust rang from the other end of the table.

"Right, by all means, spoil him. Don't mind me, I don't matter, I'm not even here, I just..." Colmu set the orange pudding in front of her with a thud and an arch look and Dis' face promptly went through the same transformation as her brother's. Tirade forgotten, she looked up bashfully from beneath her brows. "Thank you, Colmu." A bob and nod were all the response the old dwarf gave, but her face was proud from seeing the two eating happily. For the weeks the two had spent in his house, Bilbo had seen them angry, he had seen them upset, he had seen them happy, but he had never imagined seeing them act like children. Dis' words to him were once again more clear than he could have imagined; the old dwarf really did have everyone under her thumb. For her part, the ancient cook clearly didn't see a skilled regent and a king of a dwarven kingdom, it was obvious that she only saw the two young dwarves she had known their whole lives. He felt privileged, feeling certain most dwarves even in the city about them had no suspicion such a scene would ever be possible. Colmu stood watching them eat with a sort of softness that made Bilbo remember his own mother so sharply he almost teared up.

Later, after the apple tarts had been served and service had been cleaned up, Bilbo snatched a quick meal in the kitchen and went to join Thorin and Dis in front of the fire. He had devoured enough of the casserole that Colmu had poked him in the belly and made a tart comment about wondering where it all went, but even so, he felt the dinner to have been a grand success. She drizzled honey on one of his biscuits and said it was 'quite good', which seemed high praise indeed considering the way the two helpers goggled at him when it happened. After finding his way to them in the complicated apartments he settled on the couch next to Thorin. The couch reminded him that, as with all the furniture here, it was designed for people just enough larger than hobbits that nothing was truly comfortable. He slid back into the couch and let his feet stick out, but that felt odd and awkward. Ultimately he decided that was rude and folded his legs back under him (which let him lean into Thorin, a state of affairs that hardly disturbed him). Dis' sour look told both of them her opinion of this scandalous closeness, but he wasn't sure he cared at that precise moment. "It's none of my business, I'm certain," he said, curiosity getting the better of him, "but how old is Colmu, exactly?" Thorin snorted a laugh as Dis giggled.

"Nobody is quite sure, and I'd refrain from asking if I were you," Dis said. "We wondered as children and by our best guess she must be almost four hundred, which is an amazing age for a dwarf. One who isn't Durin, anyway. She was born in Sarkhubuland, the city in the Grey Mountains that was built after Durin's Bane took Khazad-Dum from us. She has made comments over the years that demonstrate she remembers the flight back to Erebor after the great wyrm came and destroyed it, which means she was at least thirty or forty years of age in 2590. Here we are in 2945, so you do the sums if you wish." Dis smiled with a softness Bilbo had rarely seen as she fiddled with the fringes on a complicated pillow next to her. "She was basically our foster mother, as you no doubt gathered. When we were in Erebor, our actual mother had her duties, and plenty of them. We spent many an hour sitting in the kitchen with Colmu waiting for our parents to return from court."

"You and Frerin did, anyway," Thorin said, sounding half asleep. "I was already in training to be heir to the heir. No sitting in the kitchen for me." Bilbo remembered the horrible stories Dis had told him, both what she had said and what she had implied, but Thorin's tone gave no indication of any of it. He could have been commenting on the weather, for all the weight in his words. After a moment, he sighed contentedly. "But she was always there, it's true. Even when I was just a tiny pebble, she was already there, ready with a kind word and a sweet cake. And already old, though not like she is now. Remember the assassin from the Iron Hills?" Dis chuckled, though Bilbo was appalled. Assassin? Thorin's half-closed eyes glanced over at Bilbo. Noting the concern he patted the hobbit on the shoulder. "No need to worry, it was long ago, some dispute between my grandfather and a senior lord of Dain's grandfather Gror. He tried to sneak in to poison grandfather's food. Didn't know about Colmu. She cut his head half off with a butcher knife and stashed him in the pantry with no-one the wiser. Nobody knew anything had even happened until the next day when she told a guard to come get the body because it was in the way." He and Dis both laughed, but Bilbo had never felt more out of his own culture.

"I... that's quite a story. I don't think I should like to have a body in my pantry, it sounds quite unsanitary." The other two laughed, and the chat circled back inevitably to the discussions of the afternoon in front of the gate to the mines. Bilbo couldn't help but notice that Thorin looked so at ease. Thinking back to the time the dwarf had spent in his smial, and even further back to the long journey they had shared and the few weeks in Erebor, Bilbo was forced to admit that he had never seen him quite so comfortable-looking as he was now. All his earlier worries came back with a rush. It was obvious to him that Thorin belonged here, or somewhere like here. It was equally obvious that Bilbo couldn't offer him that at Bag End. For what seemed like the first time, Bilbo felt that he had been childish in his assumption that stepping into a marriage or even a long-term relationship was nothing but desire and kindness, but the awesome scope of it suddenly opened in front of him, like a chasm at his feet. He wanted Thorin to be happy; he hadn't lied to Colmu earlier, even the thought of making Thorin unhappy was painful, and the last thing he wanted was to condemn the dwarf to a life he didn't enjoy just because he happened to be in love with a selfish hobbit. He wondered miserably if Thorin found his furniture as uncomfortable and awkward as Bilbo found the furniture here. What else was a poor fit that he had never even seen or noticed? The hobbit was so swept up in his thoughts, he didn't notice that Dis was speaking to him until Thorin nudged him.

She rolled her eyes, clearly assuming he had been distracted by Thorin. "I asked if you would be willing to visit a _shahathur_ in the next day or two, since the goblin situation seems resolved. I will find someone discreet, as Thorin has made it clear he doesn't desire a giant state wedding, as would be required for a sitting king. He is in an odd situation, because..." Bilbo's misery was thrown into stark relief by this and he interrupted her.

"Yes, he's said. King but not king. I... I suppose. I would like to know more about what that entails." She looked surprised, but he realized he needed to give this more thought, and perhaps discuss it with Thorin. Once they were married, Thorin would never entertain ideas of being apart, even for his own happiness and Bilbo... if he was honest with himself, he wasn't sure he was strong enough to survive losing Thorin if they got any closer, even for the dwarf's own good. His dwarf was staring at him now in apparent confusion, but Bilbo wasn't about to start to explain himself in front of a nosy, opinionated third party like Dis, no matter how well-intentioned she might be. "Perhaps we can discuss it in the morning. I find myself exhausted. Where will I be staying?" Bilbo was promptly shown to a guest room, which contained his luggage (including his box of produce, which he promptly had delivered to the kitchens). His worries wouldn't go away, and in the dark his mind went wild spinning one dreadful worry after another. It took him ages to fall asleep despite the soft, comfortable bed.

He woke all at once, loud noises from the hall outside coming through the cleverly weighted stone door. Stumbling to the door, he peered out still in his nightshirt only to see a grim Dis and Thorin passing by, both fully armored. "What's happening?" he asked. "Is everything alright?"

"The goblins have returned," Thorin said. "Go back to bed, it will be fine. I will see you in the morning." Bilbo tried to speak further, but shouting down the hall in Khuzdul drew Thorin away. Bilbo's last sight of him was his armor-clad back as he jammed a half-helm down over his silver-streaked dark hair. The hobbit knew that more sleep was out of the question that night.


	18. Chapter 18

Bilbo went back into his room in a daze and lit the lamp. 'Go back to bed', he thought sourly, certainly, why not? Immediately terrifying images leapt to mind of Thorin wounded, the battle of Erebor, goblins shrieking... Bilbo forced them away almost physically, shuddering in anxiety. Right, he thought. If I were at home, I'd cook, and I suppose that's a better use of my time than sitting in a room under a mountain thinking of the hundreds of things that might go wrong. With that, he put his clothes on, along with the mithril chain, and went out to find his way back to the kitchen through the darkened apartments. The embers of the banked fires cast enough of a glow that the rooms weren't in pitch blackness, so he was able to find his way to the kitchen door. When he pushed it open, the brightness of the room was almost a shock. Colmu was standing at a stove, stirring a large pot of something, though the kitchen staff were nowhere in evidence.

Colmu chuckled. "Now I know you're a cook," she said. "First sign of trouble, straight to the kitchen. We're kin in that, you and I." She nodded at the large table. "Breakfast is far away, fix what suits you." 

"My thanks," he replied. "Yes, if I don't cook, what else good will I be? My knife won't make one bit of difference down below, and I can't sit in my rooms." She gave an approving grunt and nodded, slicing potatoes into a pot. He remembered the apricots he had seen the night before, and put some in to soak in white wine, then started grinding flour. He would make a fruit loaf, he supposed. Good place to start, and it would keep for however long it needed to. Measuring out wheat for the quern, the floor suddenly shook and a deep rumbling was heard. Colmu looked up sharply as did Bilbo. "What was that?" he asked in horror. Visions of the mountain falling in on them were brutally suppressed, but he could feel his heart racing.

"Not a sound I expected," she said, and despite her calm tone Bilbo could see the signs of worry. "Mayhap it's nothing to worry about." Her comforting words were given the lie by the amount of tension that became apparent in her movements. The smooth stirring became jerky, and he didn't miss the quick glance at the knives set out on the table for the breakfast preparations. Despite the worry, though, hours crept by and no word was received. The two helpers appeared and began grinding flour, hauling water, and dicing vegetables under Colmu's watchful eye with nothing to report; nothing they saw in the city had been unusual, though of course only cooks, servants and miners were up at that time of night. There was no damage in the city, at least not in their travels to the kitchen. Bilbo wanted to ask a thousand things, but Colmu got a few sentences from the two and then set them to work. It was apparent that any further breaches of kitchen protocol weren't to be tolerated, so he was left to stew in his own worry. His apricot bread turned out a perfect golden loaf and he slid the biscuits he had prepared into the oven. The lack of a tea kettle was a constant thorn; he cursed himself multiple times an hour for not bringing it, along with a supply of tea leaves and more pipeweed (more because he'd already gone to smoke once and realized that he would run out before he got home).

One of the oddest things about the dwarven city to Bilbo was that there was no real time in the mountain, or at least no way to track it. In the Shire, one was never far from a window or a door; there was always a view of the sky available, or at least indirect light to tell what time it was. In the deeps it was every time and no time, and the height of noon or the middle of the night were unmarked, cool crystalline lamps glowing and torches flickering without any indication that the outside world even existed. In his extreme worry time seemed strange anyway, and each hour that passed seemed like an age of the earth. He knew it had to be past the normal time for breakfast, but still they cooked and waited. Finally Colmu grunted and said "Let's fix cold food; when they come back, they'll not care to wait." Bilbo nodded, and without a word they set to preparing cold salads and shredding roast chicken for serving over trenchers of bread. When they passed the trays to the staff for decoration, Bilbo stood and twisted his fingers together, not knowing what else to do. "Don't fret, Master Baggins," Colmu said in the gentlest voice he'd heard from the old dwarf yet. "The children of Durin are tougher than the roots of the mountains; if you know them at all, you know that."

"I do," he said softly, unable to meet her eyes. "Yes, I do." He glanced down at his hands as if surprised to see them knotted around each other. "When... when the orcs came to Erebor, Thorin was badly hurt. I thought... well, you know. But he recovered, somehow. He is strong, it's true." His eyes prickled and he swiped at them, cursing under his breath. "I just worry." He looked up to see sharp black eyes looking at him, and her gnarled hand landed on his shoulder.

"I know," she sighed. "But take it from one who's lived through a lot of terrible times... we go on. It's all we can do. No matter how dark the day, folk need to eat, they need to sleep, their hands need work... and they go on. You may be _Khuzdbaha_ , but now you are learning what it truly is to be a dwarf." Her seamed face was ancient and ageless as she peered at him and he shivered in spite of himself. She could have been some statue carved of stone herself, rather than flesh and blood. He thought back to the night Dis told him the story of the dwarves and remembered the two things she had discussed.

"Loss and hope," he whispered.

"Aye," she said with a wry smile. "You're learning the first, lad, now remember the second. Get that tray and carry this food out with me, won't hurt it to wait for them on the table." Her hand gripped him firmly and she paused. "You've armor on?" Her fingers gripped again, tracing the mithril rings under his shirt.

"Yes," he said, suddenly embarrassed. "Let's, uh, get this food out." She eyed him keenly but at his glance at the helpers, currently kneading bread dough, she grunted and they each grabbed a tray and headed outside. Setting the trays on the table, she looked at him but didn't speak. He felt the weight of her regard. Finally, shrugging, he opened his shirt a bit and showed her edge of the mithril corselet, light dancing off the shining silvery rings. She gaped, astonished as Dis had been at such a display of immense wealth. "It was a gift from Thorin in Erebor." She nodded, dumbstruck, wispy beard bobbing with her head. A braid over one ear fell forward, capped with black iron, but she quickly tucked it back again. After a moment of staring in amazement she shook her head slowly.

"A gift like that, imagine! You aren't the only one to give their whole heart, Master Bilbo Baggins, I see that clear as day. I don't understand it, but I won't question it. Just remember what I told you," and with that, she turned back to the kitchen, scuttling off with her odd, rolling gait, leaving Bilbo to button his shirt back up. He stared at the food they had prepared, sitting out and ready for hungry dwarves to come back. Please, he prayed, not even sure to whom. Please let Thorin come back safely. It was terrifying fighting in battle, but in some ways sitting and waiting was worse, not knowing the outcome. That horrible shaking... what had caused it? He hoped all was well.

=

All was not well. Dis limped in the door at the head of a group of dwarves, all of them shout-talking at the top of their lungs. She looked ragged and worn, covered in black blood and caked in whitish dust, armor filthy and scratched here and there. A bandage wrapped one leg, though it didn't seem to slow her any. The others were equally filthy. After looking at the crowd, Bilbo's heart sank when he realized Thorin was not with her. Buri and Frar were at her back, and Lord Khim was walking beside her looking so grim he seemed a different dwarf than the one Bilbo had met just the day before; his elaborate beard was caked with filth and goblin blood. The other two were military of some sort, though Bilbo had only seen them from a distance the day before. The dwarves proceeded to the table without pausing, each of them snatching up food with grimy hands and just shoving it into their mouths while talking. Dis' eyes cut to Bilbo and an expression flashed across her face that he couldn't interpret, but despite his desperate need to know where Thorin was, he didn't feel it would be right to interrupt. Before he could figure out whether to go back in the kitchen or stay, Lord Khim turned to him, a ghastly attempt at a smile peeking out from behind his enormous beard.

"Ah, I see the burglar has come," he said in a jocular voice. Dis' eyes cut to him in irritation, but she remained silent. "I still think we should have sent him along to..." Bilbo couldn't bear to play word games, and interrupted him.

"Your pardon, Lord Khim. Please, where is Thorin? Lady Dis?" He felt mildly pleased at remembering the honorific, but her expression made his blood run cold. A grumble of disapproval went through the other dwarves, but Bilbo couldn't have cared less at that moment. She glared about herself with pale blue eyes perfectly suited for expressing offense, enforcing silence.

"My brother, _King_ Thorin, has led a force into the mines," she said with an uplifted chin and cold expression that looked absolutely nothing like the dwarf Bilbo had spent weeks living beside. Her glance at the others standing around as she spoke raised his suspicions as to the true story. "After the goblins used our own blasting powder against us, he made the decision that the goblin situation must be dealt with, and he has gone to sort it." Deal with... Bilbo's knees felt weak. Of all the ridiculous, pig-headed, stupidly dangerous things to try! "Please excuse us, Master Baggins, and I will speak to you when we are finished here." Her eyes apologized but he didn't notice, so caught up in horrific visions of Thorin lying dead in a tunnel somewhere he wanted nothing more than to sit and hold his head. Why was she behaving like this? He thought he had come to know her rather well in their time together, but this was a person he didn't feel he knew at all. Before he knew it, his mouth was speaking without him.

"I beg your pardon, madam! I see to be named _Khuzdbaha_ is to be considered a cold sort of friend, dealt with only when convenient. So much for that, I suppose. I will go away, then, and trouble you no more." Bilbo hardly recognized his own voice, so acid did he sound. Dis' shock at this seemed unfeigned, but the hiss of offended breath from her generals was loud. Only Lord Khim was unfazed. Instead the old dwarf smiled at him beatifically, stepping forward with hands extended. For all his recent grimness and filthy appearance, at that particular moment he seemed as delighted as a happy faunt. Bilbo recognized the look of a seasoned troublemaker this time, and knew he was in for it.

"As I thought! Did I not even say so to you, Regent? The burglar of all present should have been sent with him! Who better to sneak in undetected and find the way through those warrens? I felt it so, and see? Now he says so himself! Come, burglar, let us go below. This will be small shrift to one who faced down a fire-drake, but we have need. It is not too late to join your king and save possibly him and his mission as well." A rumble of approval came from the generals but Dis looked grey and ill at the prospect. She closed her eyes and turned away, hiding her face while seeming to search among the food for something. Bilbo felt a bit ill himself, but recognized that his mouth had dragged him (once again, he thought bitterly) into a mess. If he declined, he would be thought craven; if he went, he might die. His heart made the decision for him. Thorin was the deciding factor... better to die with Thorin than live without him. And wasn't that a realization to come to in such a fix? Still, Bilbo nodded, feeling determined. After all, he reasoned, he did have the ring with him; surely even Gandalf would recognize the need for it to be used in such circumstances! He had tried his best to stop thinking of it in its little pouch around his neck. In the first few months after his return it used to seem to get warmer or colder, lighter or heavier, but such tricks had long since stopped. For the most part he had been able to forget it; indeed, since Thorin arrived, he'd barely thought of it at all. Invisibility would come in great handy in these circumstances, though, as would its gift of the queer sort-of-vision in the dark. Thank goodness he hadn't left home without it!

"Let me fetch my weapon, Lord Khim, and I will be ready. I am happy to help your city if I can." Bilbo scampered off to his room to fetch Sting, ignoring Khim's pointless compliments and inanities as he went. His guts knotted within him. Well, Bilbo Baggins, you've gone and put your foot right in it now, he thought sourly. What would Ham say if he could see you in this mess? Thinking of Ham made him remember Freddy and he almost fell over. He had to get back alive, if only for Freddy. If something happened to Thorin... don't think about that, he insisted sternly... he still must get back and make proper arrangements for Freddy beyond the slapdash travel plans. Mouth a thin grim line, he returned to the group. He looked at his elvish dagger Sting as he buckled it on. What am I doing?, he wondered. It's all gone quite horribly wrong. As he approached the door to return to the group, Dis appeared in it and shut it behind herself.

Whirling to face him, she was once again the familiar Dis, though he was used to seeing this outrage directed at Thorin instead of himself. "Have you gone utterly mad?" She hissed, trying to keep her voice down. "Why would you make such a..."

"I beg your pardon," Bilbo returned hotly. "I don't know what went on out there, but after treating me like a soiled dishtowel, you don't get to come into my room and abuse me! I..." he stopped, realizing that he was dangerously close to truly losing his temper. He breathed for a moment, ignoring Dis' stunned face. "To go after Thorin may be a stupid idea; in fact, it almost certainly is. I should not have agreed, and it may be that Lord Khim set me a trap and like a fool I stepped into it. You would know that better than I. But I assure you, I am not helpless; far from it. And if every goblin in the west of the world is between me and my Thorin, then I will reach him or die trying." He must have looked fiercer than he felt, because Dis looked back with what seemed to be respect in her eyes.

"Bilbo Baggins, you are either the bravest hobbit ever born, or the biggest fool, and either way you are perfect for my brother. I..." she stopped and looked away. "So be it. I will walk you down with Lord Khim. It is far better that way, and I don't trust him as far as I can throw him with one hand. If you cannot find them, and I cannot stress this enough, mark your way back. The mines are complex, and dwarves have stonesense to find their way through. You do not. There is no shame in returning to us if you cannot find them before you are exhausted." He nodded, a new sense of how daunting a task he had volunteered himself for dawning unpleasantly in his mind. She grasped his shoulders. "I will not have you go with harsh words between us, though. I regret that you took what I said amiss. Peace between us?" His wordless embrace of her answered that. She reeked of dust and a strange, sour smell that he assumed was the blasting powder, but it didn't matter.

"Always," he half-whispered. "Dis... If I don't come back, promise me you will arrange for Freddy to get what he needs. Money, education, whatever it may be. Will you promise?" She sighed but nodded, and with that a weight was lifted off his mind. Well that's settled, he thought, squaring his shoulders with a quick prayer. Green Lady, though I am deep in your husband's realm, please watch over and help me. Together, they went back out to face the others.

=

The guardpost at the mine entrance was unrecognizable. Scraps of wood and tattered cloth were all that were left of the makeshift barricades. The door was gone, blown off its hinges by whatever titanic blast had strewn whitish rock dust everywhere. Several dwarven bodies were stacked against one wall, and the wounded were laid in the hall outside, some groaning in pain as they approached. The haze of dust still hung in the air, making a sort of haze in the light, and the same sour, piercing smell that Bilbo had noticed on Dis hung in the air as well, mixed with the unmistakable stench of goblins. Goblin bodies were everywhere, though a team was clearing them. Bilbo noticed with amazement that some of the dead were wounded already, with crude bandages on limbs of goblins that now lay scattered and broken by dwarven weapons. Some looked elderly, others were practically naked without armor and only makeshift weapons. Why would they attack in such a state? It made no sense. The tunnel beyond the ruined door was half-collapsed, with stone and rubble piled to one side and the tracks of dozens of dwarvish boots leading into the darkened passage. Khim had praised Bilbo fulsomely during the entire trip down, and each overblown sentence made the hobbit dislike him a bit more. Khim was as over-sweet as Lobelia was over-sour, but the similarities were becoming obvious the longer he spent with the mercurial noble. Dis walked beside them in grim silence, though her occasional cold glances at the nattering dwarf made it clear that she was of a similar opinion to Bilbo on the matter.

"The door is before you," Dis said in a grim voice. "Be safe, _Khuzdbaha_ , and return to us." A thousand words lay between them unsaid, and her anguished gaze spoke what she could not say aloud. he took the chunk of chalk and water bottle she offered with a wordless nod.

"But surely you will need a lantern," Khim said brightly, as though the idea had just occurred to him. Who knows, Bilbo thought furiously, perhaps it had. "Not having a dwarf's ability to sense stone or see beneath the mountain, some light..."

"I will be fine," he said shortly, and took a vicious pleasure in the brief surprise in Khim's face. With that the hobbit bowed, turned, and entered the gaping maw of the mines. He slipped on the ring after passing around the rubble, not wanting to vanish from sight if anyone were watching (and wouldn't that lead to some awkward questions!) but not willing to feel his way forward in the reeking pitch blackness either. Blood squished beneath a layer of dust on the floor, but the ring's proto-vision made the tunnel clear in a colorless, oddly-flickering sort of way. He had almost forgotten how wavy and strange the world looked when wearing it since he had hardly done so since coming home from his adventure; he had little cause, even if Gandalf hadn't been so queerly insistent on not using it. Here, though, there was no choice and he was glad to have it. The honey colored stone of the city had given way to a darker, coarser stone, though the color and texture changed as he passed through various layers and formations as he went deeper. Bilbo was sure Thorin could tell him every aspect and feature of the different types of stone, but to him they were all the same and he bitterly wished for a flower or tree or something that grew instead of chipped stone and dust. The tunnel sloped downwards rather sharply, and the low ceilings and rough walls made it look not a little like the passages in Gollum's caverns, though these were clearly not natural. Minecart tracks were cut in the floor and made footing a bit uncertain, so he hugged the wall as he went down. Fortunately it was easy enough to follow the footsteps in the dust and filth on the floor through the first intersection, though he turned about and scratched a line on the wall at eye level to remind himself from whence he'd come.

As he went lower, the floors were cleaner and Thorin's group was harder to track. Goblin tracks were visible here as well, the marks of bare feet padding through muck and dust in and out of each opening, though never in great numbers. None of the goblins' behavior made any sense to him at all. They appear seemingly from nowhere, they attack once by surprise and then come back in great numbers, then again with even their sick and old among them? Were they mad, or was some illness driving them? Now wasn't _that_ an unpleasant thought, Bilbo worried, as he glanced around himself queasily. Images of goblin rot and goblin pox appeared in his mind before he forced them away. Thorin, he reminded himself. I'm down here to find Thorin, not to spin my mind in circles with baseless fears about imaginary diseases. He continued to mark directions at each fork with the chalk, but he was beginning to worry about that as well. He'd been descending almost an hour, and the air smelled very little of goblin and more of cold stone and dust. The air was stale here, no trace of movement as there had been in the city above; whatever pumps operated there to keep the air circulating either didn't reach the mines or (more likely) had been shut down when the goblins came. One passage seemed to have a lot of footprints leading in and out, but no dwarven boots, and a smell of wet rock from that direction told the hobbit this was a water source. Every so often he checked Sting, but no radiance flickered on the elven blade so he wasn't worried about goblins nearby. The tunnels were mostly just empty and rather depressing.

Eventually he came to a place where the square chiseled tunnel had a giant rent in the side, and it was here that the footsteps led. Passing through he saw that the quality of the digging had changed, and this sort of slipshod mining could only be goblin in origin (as if the sudden strong stench of goblin caves wasn't enough of a clue). Almost immediately the passage began to rise steeply. Soon enough he began to see natural cavern formations, ceilings shooting off out of sight or odd openings in the walls with natural unshaped edges, though a rough path had still been cleared through the occasional stalagmites and swirling flowstone formations. Despite the appearance of wetness, the walls were bone dry; dripping water had left curious formations long ago, but these caves were dead. Now he truly was reminded of the caverns where he had found Gollum, and tension was causing him to start at noises that weren't even there. The slope of the tunnel was such that Bilbo suspected he was at least back up to the level of the guard chamber in the city by now, but lacking stonesense there was no way to tell. More worryingly, Sting began to flicker dimly when checked, so there were at least a few goblins still down here. Brave words to dwarves aside, he was all too well aware he wasn't fit for combat with goblins or much else. An inconvenient memory of very self-importantly proclaiming his ability to defend himself to Freddy rose in his mind and he clutched desperately at his mouth to contain hysterical laughter; well, Bilbo Baggins, you've gone and done it, haven't you? He thought bitterly. Next time brag on something sensible, like cooking or raising tomatoes! Who knows when the Green Lady may decide to test you on what you're saying? It had been so long since he'd seen a trace of dwarves he worried that he'd lost them somehow, but he saw the churned tread of boots in a patch of loose soil and breathed a sigh of relief.

The further he went, the worse it smelled. By now he was positively light-headed from the reek, and Sting was flickering more strongly. Signs of goblin occupancy were increasing; scraps of cloth and filth strewn across the floor, grimy paths up the walls leading to openings ten or twenty feet up where filthy hands and feet had climbed enough to leave a trail. Little campsites littered the path, but nowhere did he see any evidence of long-term habitation. Did goblins not build houses or other dwellings? Regardless this place was deserted to Bilbo's eye. It was nothing like the dwarves had described to him about their adventure in the Misty Mountains; no walkways, no buildings, no clever mechanisms, thankfully no thousands of shrieking goblins... just filthy empty caves and stench and small piles of picked, broken bones. Almost blindingly, he spotted flames ahead.

The hobbit peeked around the corner and saw a huge open cavern, lit by two giant bonfires. A vast and reeking pit gaped behind a throne with some sort of armature on it, and it held some sort of odd iron object shaped like a seal or crest. Jagged horns or knives ringed a sort of mask, and there was a symbol in place of a face that made Bilbo feel a bit queasy and off, though he was sure he hadn't ever seen it before. Just looking at the thing made the ring tingle a bit for some reason. With delight, he spotted Thorin standing in front of the throne at the head of a troop of soldiers. Only when he breathed a sigh of relief and moved forward did he see the bloated goblin seated in the throne in front of them.


	19. Chapter 19

The goblin on the throne was deformed looking, like a normal goblin had been stretched mostly out of shape. He was quite a bit larger than the smaller ones Bilbo had seen dead, but nothing on the monstrosity the dwarves reported meeting below the pass in the Misty Mountains. His torso was longer than it seemed it should be, but his hands and feet were the same size as a normal goblin's giving him a strange imbalanced look. Giant wattles of fat draped his oversized head. Around the dais that contained the throne, dead smaller goblins littered the cave floor, nearly naked and all covered in some stinking sludge. No sooner had Bilbo come in, than the goblin king gave a wheezing chuckle full of bitterness.

"So you've come to finish the job," he said in a labored voice. "So ends the Bonechewer clan. I have no idea how you followed us so far, but it seems all the White Orc's promises were lies." He shifted on the throne and coughed wetly. In his new position Bilbo could see that the goblin's left leg was a shredded mass of pulpy flesh, wrapped about with rough bandages. "Get on with..." he broke off, looking up and straight at the door where Bilbo stood in the shadows. He shouldn't be able to see me, thought Bilbo, just as a tiny _tink_ was heard... the sound of a golden ring slipping off a hobbit's finger and hitting the stone floor. With a roar, the bloated goblin leapt up and tried valiantly to run towards Bilbo, only to meet Thorin's sword Orcrist before going three steps. The giant misshapen head fell onto the floor in front of the throne.

"Bilbo?" Thorin said in shock, as he turned around. The cavern had lost the flickering almost-light of the ring's vision, and now the shadows pressed in, pushed back only by the fires burning in what seemed to be two huge flat braziers. He scrabbled madly in the dust, snatching up the now icy cold ring and jamming it into the tiny bag he was carrying in his pocket. The other dwarves looked at him in surprise. "What... why are you here? _How_ are you here?"

"Well," Bilbo said, trying to brazen it out, "I came after you, didn't I? Had to make sure the king made it back safely. It's what burglars do." He gave a cheeky smile and a chuckle went through the troops, but Thorin's face was grim and dour. Oh dear, thought the hobbit. I think I'm about to get my first tongue lashing from Thorin since I left Erebor, and I can't say it's not well deserved. This wasn't my finest idea, to be certain.

"Stay over there, then," Thorin instructed the hobbit tersely. "Gor, get the _inrigzirin_." One of the soldiers gingerly approached the throne and, wrapping a cloth around his hands, removed the bolts holding the barbed iron fetish onto the throne. He wrapped the cloth around it more firmly, careful not to touch it. In spite of himself, Bilbo felt a strong curiosity about the thing. What was it? Some secret item of the goblins? An odd sort of curiosity took him, and he wanted to know more about it. Thorin was watching the dwarf carrying it carefully, and Bilbo's fingers itched to get hold of it. How odd, he thought. Thorin nodded when it was secured. "The rest of you, set the pit alight. With the _inrigzirin_ gone and no creche-tenders, there's not much worry but if we've come this far we should finish the job."

Without giving it much thought, Bilbo slipped the ring back on. It was much brighter in here when he wore it and he was able to see properly again, though he still would have liked to examine that curious iron thing a bit better. It had already been packed away; perhaps he could get Thorin to let him take a peek at it later. He walked around the dwarves and up onto the dais, peering down into the pit behind it. Shockingly, it was shallower than he expected, mounded up almost full of some sort of mucky mixture and all sorts of bones. As soon as he got to the edge and peered down, the muck began convulsing, froth rising up from it as shapes were practically forced up from beneath. New goblins appeared out of the filth in massive numbers, each covered by some sort of vile membrane, and the stench intensified. The huge numbers were like bubbles from boiling water and he staggered backwards. Luckily nobody else seemed to notice. "Bilbo!" Thorin's shout came practically in his ear. The hobbit realized this was nowhere he should be, despite the ring feeling burning hot and weighing heavily on his hand.

He sprang down from the dais and scampered out into the hall, slipping the ring off, then came back around the corner. "Is everything alright?" Thorin's gaze on him was furious but the dwarven soliders had already sprung into action, pouring skins of oil down into the pit and dropping burning logs into it from one of the braziers. Thick, choking smoke rose along with the keening of the goblins trapped in the burning... whatever that disgusting mixture was. In spite of himself, he shuddered; that was a sight that wouldn't leave him for some time to come. Looking down, his heart sank; he had forgotten the muck spattered across the floor. A clear set of bare hobbit footprints led up onto the dais and then back to the entrance. He immediately felt ashamed, and puzzled as well; why on earth would he do something so stupid?

"We are finished here. _Burglar_ , with me. Let's go." Bilbo's head sank a bit into his shoulders; he hadn't been addressed by Thorin in that particular tone in years, but he knew all too well what it meant. Oh dear, he thought with a sinking feeling. Thorin's hand caught the hobbit's arm in a tight grip as they walked, though his tone was neutral enough as he spoke to the soldiers with him. "Good work, lads. We've done for this lot and they don't seem to have been here long. We should see if we can find how they got in so we can send a team to seal it up. Vuri, you have the best stonesense, lead us out of here." After only a bit of searching they found the path and went up through a series of caves and one narrow passage that forced them to crawl along single file on hands and knees. When they came out of a hidden cave mouth, it was mid-afternoon and they emerged blinking onto the slopes of a mountain. After a brief triangulation and a bite of cram to eat (for everyone except Thorin, Bilbo cursing himself again for not bringing food) they set off marching. Thorin didn't speak to him the whole way back, leaving him to worry all over again about how poorly suited he was both as a hobbit and as a person to be consort to such a warrior king. It was an exhausted and disheartened hobbit who staggered in the main gates, though the dwarves all still looked unfazed by the day's exertions.

Thorin was quite gracious in thanking everyone and gave instructions on sealing the entrance to one of the Minelords, who swore it would be done immediately. By the time that conversation was finished word had reached Dis and she and Lord Khim appeared, along with Ironlord Vurn and most of the others Bilbo had met the day before. Clearly Khim had taken the time to groom himself, as he has shed all the grime and dust to become once again the polished noble of their first meeting. And of course, he was first to speak, spreading his hands expansively and beaming behind his enormous beard. "King Thorin, I see the burglar found you, as I knew he would! He seemed quite determined to reach you, and I apologize for doubting you, Master Baggins." This last was accompanied by a deep bow to Bilbo, who had previously thought he couldn't be any more miserable but discovered he had been mistaken when Thorin's brows drew down and he cast a livid look at the hobbit. Dis' laugh cut through the moment of tension.

"'Quite determined' after you practically dragged him to the mines and flung him into the tunnel, you mean, Khim!" Her chuckle seemed forced but the amusement was genuine enough. "I never doubted his ability to do it, though I think you could have given him more warning than ambushing him when he'd spent the morning wondering what was going on with no news. Welcome back, Master Baggins. Thorin, I trust the group was victorious? None of you seem to have even a scratch, so it must have gone fairly well." Her look across the soldiers hesitated at Thorin, and the two siblings exchanged a glance that could have meant anything. Thorin's brow smoothed out a bit, and he lost some of his apparent anger. Thank goodness he seems a bit calmer, Bilbo thought miserably, despite the mess I've made of things.

Khim's face was almost a caricature of offended sadness. "I hardly think that's fair, Regent! I merely..." Thorin spoke over him, ignoring that the other dwarf was even speaking.

"We found where they had driven a shaft into the mines on the fifth deep, coming in on that seam of black shale that we hoped was coal-bearing but wasn't. Turns out they had gotten in through caves we didn't know about; I've sent Minelord Breki to seal it up. They seem to have been a small group of refugees from the Misty Mountains, best guess, and hadn't gotten dug in. The king made mention of the white orc; they might have actually been survivors from the battle of Erebor, though how they got from there to here may always remain a mystery. I'd guess they hadn't been in those caves more than a few months, if that. They didn't have the numbers to reproduce properly, which is why they were raiding; they'd fed up a king but he wasn't very big yet, and they only had one small birthing pit so far. There weren't many left after the morning's raid beyond the king who was already hurt and the creche-tenders; we fired their creche and got their _inrigzirin_. It's one of the old strong ones too; have the Scribes come get it and take care of it before it can make any mischief. Mahal knows where they got it, but let's hope they stole it from somewhere it will be sorely missed." His refusal to mention Bilbo was clearly noticed by Dis, whose eyes flickered from one to the other before nodding.

"Excellent news. This is a glorious triumph. Shahrulbizad thanks you, great king, for your work today has prevented a problem for years to come. If they had gotten properly dug in we'd never have been done with them without much more effort." Vurn whispered something to her and she nodded, smiling brightly but eyes looking a bit trapped. "We cannot offer much to one so heroic, though you surely deserve it, but a feast in your honor must be held. Your soldiers who went will sit at the first table as well. As Regent, I offer this as my thanks." Thorin nodded and smiled, though the smile came nowhere near his eyes.

"The honor is not so much mine as these fine soldiers', but so be it. We feast!" A cheer went up at his final shout and Bilbo was determined that whatever was served at that feast, he would find a way to cook and have served so Thorin's secret would be safe. After his dismal performance in the goblin caves, he could see why Thorin might want to keep him as a secret. Blast the curiosity that drove him to do such stupid things! Finally all the congratulatory talk was done and they all made their way back to the royal quarters. No sooner were they in the door than Thorin turned to Bilbo, brows drawn down. 

Before he could even speak, Bilbo squeaked out "Just a moment, be right back!" and darted off to the kitchens leaving a fuming and nonplussed Thorin standing in the hall. The hobbit greeted Colmu on the run as he entered but snatched up the apricot loaf he had made that morning (Green Lady, had it only been that morning?) and scampered back outside without pausing. "Here," he passed it to Thorin while panting a bit from the sudden jog. "At least have something to eat while we talk." Dis' snicker seemed to irritate Thorin further, but he snatched the loaf from Bilbo and glared at it, then spoke.

"If I might have a word?" His voice was reasonable, but the undertone was not. To her credit, Dis quickly realized she needed to be elsewhere; she excused herself to the dining room where she was still technically within chaperone range but not privy to what was being said. Bilbo nodded. Sighing, he went over and sat on the couch and braced himself for a proper telling off. Thorin surprised him by staying silent far longer than the hobbit expected. Instead, he tore off a piece of the apricot bread and ate it, then did the same with a second piece. "This is very good," he said in an odd, forced voice.

"I'm... glad?" Bilbo responded. This wasn't what he expected at all. "I made it for you this morning. While I was waiting." Thorin nodded, then passed a hand over his face, pulling at his own beard.

"Bilbo," Thorin sighed. "What you did today was frankly ridiculous." Ah, the hobbit thought. Here we go, this is more like it. "I'm trying to give you the benefit of the doubt, I really am. I don't doubt that Khim found some way to force you into volunteering, but..." Thorin's anger seemed to have subsided and his face was stricken as he looked over, piercing Bilbo's heart at the thought that this misery was his fault. Being berated would be bad enough, but knowing that he caused Thorin to look like that... that was much worse. "Why would you do something like that? Do you know what it would do to me if you died looking for me, _mizimel_? Or worse, died in front of me? What were you thinking?" For all Bilbo's pride in his ability to talk his way round problems, he didn't know what to say. He sat for an awkward moment with those blue eyes staring at him miserably, and spoke without thinking.

"I was thinking I'd rather die than lose you," he finally said. "If there was any chance I could protect you, I'd..." Thorin's snort of dismay cut him off.

"Protect me? How? Bilbo, in case I need to remind you, you can't fight. What did you think you were going to be able to do against the goblins we all thought we were going to find? I was sure you were here and safe, which was the only reason I could go forward; when you appeared in that doorway..." Thorin looked away and cleared his throat. "The soldiers are all telling stories of how clever the burglar is, to appear in the heart of a goblin camp with none the wiser. I've never known you to crave praise, but did you want everyone to talk about how clever you were? Was that why?"

"No!" Every time he thought he couldn't feel any worse, he was proven wrong. His eyes prickled at the unfair accusation, but he could see how it might look that way. "I just... nobody would tell me anything until Dis and Khim showed up and Dis was rude and Khim said I should go find you and I... I said I would because I didn't know what else to do and... and..." He was crying now, tears streaming down his face. Thorin was crying too, silently as he always did, tears trickling down into his beard. "I meant it, Thorin, I'd fight every goblin in the west of the world for you, I even said as much to Dis. But you're right. Of course you're right. It's true, I can't fight, and I'm probably not the right one for you to marry because you're a king and I'm just a hobbit and..." Thorin's sudden grip on his shoulders interrupted him and he looked up to see fierce blue eyes only inches from his own.

"Never say such things to me again! What nonsense is this? In all my years, Bilbo Baggins, you are the only one I have ever wanted. My heart chose you; indeed, you are the only one I _can_ ever want. You mean more to me than any crown, _mizimel_. Why would you think such a thing? Who has put this poison in your mind?" Bilbo felt silly now that he saw Thorin's face, the shock and dismay making clear to him that he hadn't been as good as he thought at keeping false fears at bay. He sniffled and tried to compose himself, looking away from the anguished eyes staring into his own.

"Nobody. I just... I see you talking to all these great lords and being a king and you're so good at it and clearly you're born to do it... I worry that I can't give you that. I don't want you to settle down with me and then feel trapped or disappointed or..." Thorin's abrupt embrace was like coming in from the cold, the shocking warmth from Thorin startling another sob from the hobbit. Bilbo suddenly felt quite foolish indeed. Dis cleared her throat but was ignored by both of them. Eventually Thorin pulled back and looked into the hobbit's eyes again with exasperation.

"It seems that it is my turn to ask you, then, what you have often asked me. Bilbo Baggins," Thorin put on a false affronted face. Bilbo hoped that wasn't what he looked like when he was irritated but was afraid he probably did. "Do you not listen to a word I say? Have I not told you several times that I very much enjoy living with you, being in the Shire, acting as smith and nothing more? Have I ever given you any reason to believe that I was unhappy? That I wanted anything other than to love you and be loved in return?" The last sentence was said with a wistful tone that went through Bilbo like a hot knife.

"Yes, you have told me those things. And... No," he whispered, sniffling. "No you have not. Quite the opposite. And I love you too, you know. Tremendously." Bilbo felt as small as a mouse as it was driven home precisely how misguided he had been for the past few days. He leaned forward to look at his feet and his braid with the iron bead flopped into his face.

"Do you know," Thorin said softly as he gently reached up and slid Bilbo's braid back over his ear, provoking another thunderous sound from Dis, "on that first night I came to the Shire, when I was still foolishly jealous of your cousin, you told me something that shook me to my core. We were talking about our childhoods, for some reason. I told you my childhood was mostly unpleasant and that I didn't have many good memories. You said something that struck me so strongly it has stayed with me ever since. Your comment at the time was, 'we have to make some new good memories for you while you're here'." Bilbo remembered that. He cringed a bit in retrospect given what he had been told about the horrors Thorin's childhood had contained, but his dwarf was still speaking. "I will never forget that. Those words touched my heart, and I must say that every memory I have of us since that night has been a good memory. The more I see of you, the more I want to see, and the more I know that my heart was right when it recognized you as my _azyungel_ , my heart-mate. What you see in me when I am, as you put it, 'being a king', is only years of practice and well over a century of harsh lessons driven home, not enjoyment. What you see in me when I am smithing, that is proper enjoyment, though I didn't do it for long years until you forced me back to it. Thank you for that. But Bilbo... what you see when I am with you? That is my love. And I would not give you up for all the kingdoms of the world. Do you hear me?" At Bilbo's ashamed nod, Thorin nodded as well. "Good, then let's hear no more of that sort of nonsense talk."

"I... very well. Thank you." He wasn't sure what exactly he was thanking Thorin for, but the hobbit didn't know what else to say. Once he thought about all the things Thorin had told him and said about being happy, he felt a right tit to have worried about it. But wasn't that just the way of such things? It was always clear in hindsight what was true and what was foolish, but when it was going on, Bilbo thought, it was anyone's guess. He looked over and realized that Thorin's mouth was once again set into a hard line. It seemed there were still things to be discussed, and he didn't know how much more of this conversation he could take without bursting into flames or running away screaming.

"Also," Thorin said with a stern look, "I would also ask that you not let others bait you into acting rashly and endangering yourself, if we might circle back to the original reason for this discussion. Khim isn't malicious, exactly, but he is an inveterate troublemaker, and the only thing he likes more than trapping people into something they have no desire to do is getting something for nothing. By sending you into the tunnels, it was both. He could either seem prescient if you succeeded or be rid of a potentially troublesome unknown factor if you failed. He is the proverbial game where the only way to win is not to play. Do you understand?" Bilbo nodded. Seen in that light, it did make a sort of sense, he supposed. Thorin pinned him with a stern look. "And one more thing. I cannot know what possessed you to put on that ring of yours and go peer into the goblin creche, but I must say I do not appreciate your lying about it to me, even by implication or omission. I am trying very hard to overcome years of training and to be as open and honest with you as I can, as you instructed me to be. In return I expect the same from you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Thorin." This he could easily agree to. He was quite ashamed of himself in retrospect. "I don't even know why I did that; I suppose it was curiosity at first and then embarrassment. I do apologize." Thorin nodded once as Bilbo looked over from beneath his brows. "What is a creche, anyway?" Thorin grimaced a bit, face showing his disgust at the topic.

"I suppose it might be a little mysterious to someone who had never seen one, but I will warn you now, this is an unpleasant subject. Orcs and goblins don't breed like the other races; they weren't created to take any form of pleasure, including... well, you know. Instead, they rely on those pits to produce new orcs and goblins. They chop up their own kind to make that muck that fills it, along with the bodies of anyone else they can kill. An object with some sort of dark magic is used to activate it to make it fruitful; the stronger the magic, the more are produced and the faster they come out. The creche-tenders are like midwives and pull them out of the filth, but they are born knowing all they need to know - how to fight, how to kill, how to eat. They are even born knowing how to speak... after a fashion, anyway. If they're defective in any way, they're immediately slain and mixed back into the muck to breed more. Other skills can be trained, but they can fight five minutes after being 'born', if you can call it that. Goblins feed up a king on the flesh of their own kind, and his blood is used to season the creche and breed better, faster goblins, sort of like insects feed up a queen to birth stronger soldiers. Orcs have other methods but the same results. They are both vile sorts of creatures, bred specifically by the Shadow to be servants and warriors, which is why you never meet one who has an independent thought or character." Thorin grimaced in disgust. "Be thankful you never needed to know these things in the Shire; as dwarves, we deal with them enough to be all too familiar. We got very lucky that this was a new group that was too weak to oppose us properly, and even luckier that the new king was too young to be anything close to smart. The old ones are dangerously clever, though usually too fat to move around much. This one that you saw was only half-fed, essentially just a fat normal goblin, still stupid enough to run all his people directly onto our swords. Even so, we'd never have known they were there until it was too late if they hadn't needed bodies to feed to their creche. Once they got a few of those pits established, they could sustain themselves and we would have been facing an endlessly renewable army of goblins, especially with an _inrigzirin_ of such strength." Bilbo had an epiphany.

"Ah, so that iron mask that you took down from the throne, the _inrig_ -thing... that was some sort of dark magic?" Bilbo remembered his fascination with it, and was disturbed when Thorin nodded, though the dwarf was smiling at Bilbo's mangling of the Khuzdul term.

"Yes, the _inrigzirin _, the shadow-iron. This one was very strong, made by some dark power long ago to breed goblins for some war or other; quite rare to be able to capture a truly ancient one and have the chance to destroy it. Luckily they can't produce their own or the world would long since have been overrun with such vermin. The Scribes are melting it down as we speak, I'm sure, with a lot of rejoicing and happiness. That iron is ruined for any other use, though; they'll wrap it in rune-written silver and bury it once they've slagged it. Even so, that's the end of a thing which could produce a tremendous amount of potential goblins." Good heavens, Bilbo thought. Why on earth would I have been drawn to that? Perhaps Gandalf was right and I shouldn't wear my ring after all; I shall have to ask him about this if I see him again.__

__"Thank you for explaining that," the hobbit said. "It's nice that someone around here will answer my questions with more than a sour look." At Thorin's chuckle, another thought struck Bilbo. "I will try to get the menu for this feast. I know you don't want to make a public announcement about me, but I will cook all the foods they are serving for you so that you can eat along with everyone else. It should be easy enough to get your food delivered to you, I can get Colmu to help if I tell her it's for you." He grinned as if to share a joke, but Thorin simply nodded while seeming distracted. "Is that alright?"_ _

__"Yes, thank you. That's perfect. Dis didn't want to put me in that situation but with Vurn suggesting it... I understood how she was trapped." Thorin looked down, seeming ill at ease. "Are you upset that I haven't made an announcement? I will announce our betrothal to the whole city in a moment if you desire it." Bilbo was touched, though he wasn't sure how to answer._ _

__"I... thank you, Thorin. I want you to do whatever you think right; these are your people, and I trust you to know them best. You have already announced your intentions among my people... You wore my ribbons at the Fair; that meant more to me than I can tell you. I will say this, though." Thorin gazed at him inquisitively and Bilbo was struck all over again by just how handsome he was, leading his mind in unproductive directions. Bad enough that he felt giddy with relief after navigating the dangerous waters of the evening's conversation without a mind overrun with lust! "I am ready to talk to the wedding official. If you are happy to have me, I am more than happy to have you." The previously calm gaze of Thorin's azure eyes was now burning, and Bilbo felt himself falling into it like a pool of water. "More than happy," he whispered. Thorin's eyes blazed like fire._ _

__"My sister irritates me at times," Thorin said softly so she would not hear, "but it is at moments like this that I am glad for the chaperone. You are a constant temptation, _mizimel_." Once again Bilbo received The Look, and warmth filled his belly. Dear Lady, he thought, how did I live so long without someone to look at me like that?_ _

__"I will tell Dis," the hobbit said breathlessly. At Thorin's look of shocked surprise, he clarified with a laugh, "That I'm ready to talk to the _shaha_ -whatsis, you ridiculous dwarf!" Their laughter drew her attention, but they both were giggling so furiously that neither could speak coherently for quite a while. Her blatant disgust just amused them further, and she stared at them as they rolled around on the couch laughing like children. Finally, shaking her head, she went to ask Colmu for dinner._ _


	20. Chapter 20

Bilbo didn't exactly regret his statement to Thorin; regret was a strong word, and he would go to ridiculous lengths for his dwarf. His recent trip through the goblin encampment was proof enough of that. Still... by the third hour of sitting in a dwarven scribe's receiving rooms and listening to an aged _shahathur_ 's droning catalog of various types of possessions, specific degrees of ownership and the like, the hobbit was willing to face more goblins if it would just get him out of this. Thorin, being not only a dwarf but also a king, seemed fully attentive; Bilbo was barely resisting the urge to kick his feet like a bored faunt and look for something to throw. He shifted uncomfortably on the stone chair, sighing as the _shahathur_ stopped for a moment. Bilbo thought this dwarf's name was Murrek, though he felt lucky to remember even his own name after hours of this sort of thing. She was wearing loose fitting clothes and had a runed strip of cloth draped over one shoulder, and her grey beard was hung with silver beads.

The _shahathur_ shifted the scrolls around a bit, cleared her throat, and then continued inexorably without glancing up "... and for items where ownership is held in majority by one party but not the other within the union, such ownership shall be shared henceforth equally, to the extent but not beyond the extent possessed by the initial holder of such ownership, including use-right, storage-right and resolution of profits as designated, unless explicitly or contractually altered by the agreement of any or all co-owners not pertaining to the union by blood-tie. This shall hold generally and be accepted in all legal considerations except in the following specific cases..." Bilbo glanced over at Thorin and saw with disgust that the half-scowl of concentration was every inch the regal mien of a king. Perhaps this is some sort of challenge or trial by ordeal for the new relationship, the hobbit thought idly. Surely only two dwarves who truly felt drawn to each other would be willing to sit through hours or days of this sort of nonsense. He caught himself in the midst of this thought and imagined Thorin at one of the tea parties that hobbit courting partners usually held, making often-strained and shallow chitchat with the members of another family while being ruthlessly scrutinized by everyone present, and had to fight off the sudden, utterly inappropriate laughter that resulted. Fine, he thought irritably, I suppose each culture found its own particular ways to torment courting couples. His muffled half-snort of amusement didn't cause the _shahathur_ to pause or look up but it did make Thorin glance over in concern.

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His brief statement of readiness to Dis the previous evening had seemed to surprise and please her. When they arrived this morning at the Scriptorium, Chief Scribe Murrek had looked at the hobbit in shock. "This is no dwarf," came her high, querulous complaint. "How comes one who is no dwarf to this place? The Scriptorium is no place for outsiders! Regent, I thought you requested a marriage contract. If..." Thorin gestured angrily to Bilbo's iron bead, which brought an abrupt end to the chief scribe's tirade. She examined it, grunted, then said "What do the eyes of dwarves see?" in the tone usually reserved for one performing a distasteful duty.

"The eyes of dwarves look backwards," Bilbo answered in a clear voice. Thorin and Dis' assumptions that all would be smooth had struck him as rather optimistic, and he was hardly surprised to be answering these questions.

"And the eyes that look back, what do those eyes see?" She said in a sour tone. Bilbo could tell by her expression that she suspected he would answer correctly, but this was the first time he had actually been asked the second part of the statement.

"A promise of what is to come," he said, praying he had remembered it correctly. Her grunt told him nothing, though Thorin cast him a proud glance. She sighed, gathering up several scrolls and going to the racks behind her she began to slide them into labeled slots, ignoring them. Bilbo was nonplussed. He glanced over at Dis and Thorin and half-whispered "Didn't I say it correctly? Am I supposed to go into details about Mahal's promise, or...?"

"You said it correctly." Dis glared at Murrek, raising her voice. "It seems we must beg your pardon, _Khuzdbaha_ , for not all dwarves have enough pride in our traditions and customs to treat others with the honor they deserve. It had not occurred to me that one of our scribes might bring shame to our halls, even less that it would be the one most charged with supporting those traditions, but here we are. Please allow..." Murrek hurried back to where they stood and bowed (if you could call that tiny inclination a bow) but the look on her face could have curdled milk.

"How may I be of service?" she said in a voice like a thrown gauntlet. Dis returned a smile like a drawn knife.

"There are two who would wed. They would have their arrangements formalized, as is proper, before entering the adal. If you do not wish to assist, we are of course happy to find someone more qualified." Murrek waved her hand, dismissing the idea with a dry, humorless chuckle.

"There are none here more qualified, Regent, I assure you of that, no matter what the issue before the lore. Who are the couple, and what are their lines?" She squinted inquisitively at Thorin for a moment before stiffening; Bilbo realized in that moment that she was actually quite near-sighted, and had apparently only just realized that the dwarf with the Regent was in fact her brother the King. A deeper bow and a murmured "Your pardon, Majesty," made Thorin smile grimly and nod. Inquisitive eyes turned to Dis, who gestured to Thorin and Bilbo. Murrek looked myopically from hobbit to dwarf with incomprehension written all over her face, finally turning back to Dis. "I don't understand."

Dis' sigh was loud and gusty. "Thorin, son of Thrain, of the line of Durin, wishes to wed Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo Baggins, of the Shire. His heart has chosen," this phrase made Murrek stiffen as though stabbed, Bilbo noticed. Dis continued "... and Bilbo has, for his part, chosen to receive his suit, and a courting gift has been proffered and accepted. I as nearest kin approve..." Murrek's vehement exclamation interrupted any further words from the Regent.

"This... how... Are you mad? He's not a dwarf!" Murrek looked ready to go to war, glaring at them furiously. She turned to Bilbo and looked him up and down in a fashion he would normally find highly insulting, but he was beginning to be aware of just how unsettling dwarves found deviations from their traditions and customs. "No proper wedding is possible, whether he is _Khuzdbaha_ or no. There is no record of an outsider marrying _Khuzd_ in all our history! My King, Regent, this is impossible." She folded her arms and stood immobile in front of them.

"Hear me," Thorin rumbled, temper appearing in his voice. "This is the Burglar of Erebor, perhaps one so familiar with the lore might have heard of him." The look he received for this comment would have peeled the face from Bilbo, but Thorin didn't seem fazed. He went on "Bilbo Baggins endured shame and loss from his own kind in order to help us, at great loss to himself. He riddled with a fire drake and defeated it in a battle of wits. He saved our party more times than I can count, and me personally more than that. He is..." Bilbo stopped listening for a moment, face burning. Why did Thorin always make it sound like he was some sort of ridiculous hero? He heard 'Shire' and started paying attention again. "His people gave us food and shelter when we came here, and you yourself would not be alive were it not for their kindness. I will make your job simpler, though I should not have to do so. I am king no longer; I have given the throne to my nephew Fili son of Vili, and Kili son of Vili is his heir. I am now but a simple smith; I live in the Shire, with the one that my heart chose. The one I will marry, with or without an arrogant scribe who does not have the vision to see that this must be." Murrek's face expressed deep shock. Her eyes widened and her mouth gaped, beard trembling with silver beads shining among the greying strands.

When the old dwarf spoke, she was still so overwrought she was stammering. "Stepped... you cannot 'step down'! What means this? There is no way for a king to... to leave his throne, save through death. Is the lore so unimportant to you that..."

"I left Erebor to die." Thorin's bald statement silenced the room. Even the noises of the pumps that moved the air seemed muted, somehow. Murrek's eyes fell, and her mouth opened briefly, then closed again. Thorin nodded grimly. "The _ma'rikh_ was upon me. I could neither eat nor sleep. My blood was ash in my veins. I passed from the halls of our kin alone through the wilds to the Shire, there only to see the face of my beloved once more before I returned to the stone. Against all odds I was lucky enough for him to accept my suit, and I tell you now I will marry him if I must go before Mahal himself to do so." The chief scribe looked as grey as Thorin had at Bilbo's door. Dis' face was as grim as a statue. Bilbo knew all this but to hear Thorin say it so openly was... well, frankly painful.

Murrek shook her head with a jerky motion, the only sound in the room Thorin's harsh breathing and the click of the beads in her beard knocking into each other. "That... I don't... the lore..." She took a deep breath, then another. Turning to Dis, "And you approve of this union? Truly?"

Dis gave a sardonic half-smile. "He is no dwarf, it is true. Even so, yes, I approve unreservedly. He is thrice worthy; if he were a dwarf, they would be married long since. Thorin... your pardon." She glanced at her brother, who nodded once with a scowl; Bilbo wondered what agreement they had made, but supposed he would find out soon enough. "When the dragon was dead, Thorin's mind fell to the gold-sickness even as our grandfather's did. Like Thror, he was lost to us. It was Master Baggins' words that called him out again, and somehow freed him from something we could not cure. Murrek, he broke the dragon sickness! You know this to be impossible, and so we all thought, yet somehow this one did it. This hobbit is something truly new and the lore does not yet know him." This sentence made Murrek's face pale almost as much as Thorin's brash pronouncement moments earlier. The elderly dwarf turned to look at Bilbo, but this time he could tell she was actually looking at him, not just dismissing him for failing to meet dwarven standards. Her eyes had lost their rank unfriendliness, but she still looked uncertain.

Finally, the old dwarf shook her head again, seeming mystified. "If this is true, then... I have no words. Master Baggins, I honor your deeds." She actually bowed to Bilbo, and he bowed back, unsure what to think beyond that dwarves seemed to rely on shouting much more than hobbits ever dreamed of doing to resolve disagreements. The old dwarf conducted what seemed to be a muttered argument with herself and finally sighed. "These claims must be investigated, but that cannot be done here and now. I... very well, Regent. I will structure the contracts. Even so, I will not marry them. I'm sorry, but I cannot be sure of the correct path of action; I will not rashly defy the history and customs of all our race. I will not venture onto untested rock, I do not know if it will bear my weight, and there are none to bear me up." He vaguely remembered Dis saying this before, and Thorin's scowl seemed resigned.

"As you wish," Dis said. "Which of the junior scribes would you recommend? Let us speak plainly. It should be someone senior enough that you can ratify it when the judgement is eventually rendered that the match is beneficial, and someone junior enough that you feel safe in blaming their youthful enthusiasm and romantic nature when you worry about potential consequences." Murrek scoffed loudly and looked away, but Dis just smirked. "For my part, I have no fear of the judgement; anyone who has spent time with these two know that they are matched by Mahal. But you have no such knowledge and I do not hold your reticence against you. All in Shahrulbizad know your scrupulous devotion to the lore. Whom do you choose?"

Murrek sighed. "I must consider; I will let you know. For now, let us arrange the contracts. I produced some standard contracts for you and we can go through them, though I had no idea they would be expected to arrange the affairs of one of the line of Durin. If King... if Thorin, son of Thrain, _self-proclaimed smith_ ," she gave an odd, searching look at Thorin, who glared back with chin raised, "expects for these contracts to address his throne or the duties and holdings of royalty, they will not and cannot do so without extensive rewriting. Even so, all personal assets are covered. Were there any special considerations on your part, King Thorin?" She looked at the king, but he shook his head. With that she sighed as she turned to Bilbo, visibly squaring her stooped shoulders. "Very well. Before we begin, Master Baggins, if you would be so kind as to provide me a list of assets which you hold, in part or in full, which you wish to be exempted or treated specifically by the contracts..."

=

That was hours ago. Long, tedious, boring hours. In all his life, despite spending time with solicitors and such as and when needed, never had his ears suffered such prolonged abuse with _party of the first part_ and _party of the second part_ and an endless barrage of legal gibberish forming an incantation fully the equal of any dark magic the hobbit could imagine. Murrek's droning voice went on and on like a mosquito in the ear, rising and falling but never stopping. They had been asked several times for verbal acknowledgement, and Bilbo nodded dully and agreed along with Thorin (who still seemed to be paying attention, drat him!) but the hobbit noticed that even Dis looked bored. When the time finally came for them to sign the reams of paper, Bilbo signed his name with a flourish and ignored Murrek's moue of distaste at the Westron letters presumably defiling her sacred contract. Thorin signed as well, practically snapping the nib from the quill as he did so and forcing poor Murrek to resharpen it with a small penknife before making a few further notations. The hobbit prayed fervently to the Green Lady that this was the end of the day's proceedings; breakfast had been a very long time before and he needed to fix Thorin lunch as well as eat himself. Instead of telling them to leave, though, Murrek proceeded to produce a very complex metal sealing cylinder and a block of wax. As she lit a spirit lamp, Bilbo could have slammed his head against the desk.

After another seemingly interminable process with sealing the documents, it seemed that they were arranged to her satisfaction. Murrek thanked them, but Dis didn't move. "When may we expect the name of the presiding scribe?"

Murrek grunted and looked down. "I recommend Fari, son of Buri. If young Ori son of Vuri were still here, he would have been perfect, but..." Bilbo jumped at the familiar name, causing her to pause and peer at him quizzically.

"I beg your pardon," the hobbit said sheepishly. "It's only that I know Ori, he traveled with us to Erebor along with his brothers."

"Even better," she said, giving the barely-there raising of the corners of her mouth that seemed to serve her for a smile. "Fari is Ori's cousin, so you will at least know some of the family. He will be sent to you before he begins the preparation of the _adal_. Regent, the senior scribes will meet at another time and discuss the claims made to me today. King Thorin, for so I must still call you - that claim must be assessed as well - your marriage will be as proper as we can make it under the circumstances, though the Scriptorium may send emissaries to you for your statements in a more formal context. That is all I can offer you, and the decision of the Scriptorium is out of my hands upon the final ruling. I am sure you know this, but yet I remind you." She looked apologetic for the first time, but Thorin grinned as though she had made a joke.

"I do not wed Bilbo Baggins for the scribes, or the lore, or anyone else. I do it so that he is not dishonored, and to follow the commands of Mahal who made us, and who set this hobbit in my heart. Once we are properly married, I will make my home in the Shire at the side of my husband, or wherever else he decides he wishes to reside. The Scriptorium may decide as it wishes; that is between the scribes and Mahal. My heart knows the truth of the matter." The chief scribe nodded politely but her face made her opinion of this particular statement quite clear. Dis put her face in her hands briefly, but Murrek didn't seem to notice.

"So be it," the old scribe said finally, glancing from Thorin to Bilbo and then shaking her head. "It is a very odd union to have such a standard contract, but if it is the correct choice, Mahal's will shall reveal it so. Fari will be told to seek you out. Joy in your marriage," she said, halfheartedly including Bilbo in her farewell bow, then turned with the signed documents and carried them back into some inner chamber. Clearly, this part of the day was at an end.

The group departed and made their way back to the royal apartments, Dis hissing furiously at Thorin along the way with Bilbo trying not to pay attention. Fragments were still audible. "Of all the... practically told her you didn't care what the Scriptorium... can't believe you... make things so difficult for _me_ , even if you don't..." He steadfastly ignored it all, feeling that he had been asked to put up with quite enough for one day already. He was beginning to feel surprise not that so few dwarves got married, but that so many actually managed it.

After a stint in the kitchen during which he fixed a chicken pie for Thorin to eat (the dwarves had no peas, he discovered to his amazement - how did anyone survive without peas?) and asked Colmu to find him some lemons if they were to be had (and didn't _that_ get a suspicious look!) he returned to a sour, grumpy pair of dwarves. The only good news was that Colmu had found the menu for the upcoming feast, so Bilbo resolved to ask Thorin his choices as soon as possible. As if to mock and thwart him, soon after dinner Ironlord Vurn passed through with several senior miners, asking questions to Dis about something utterly incomprehensible to Bilbo dealing with minerals and metallurgy. By the time he left, along with a few other noble visitors who just seemed to want to ogle Thorin and meet 'the Burglar of Erebor', it was late and they were almost ready for bed when there came yet another knock at the door. The dwarf who came in caused Bilbo to stare in surprise; he looked so much like Ori that Bilbo could barely have told them apart from a distance. Seen up close, Fari (for of course it was Ori's cousin) had odd, golden-amber eyes, unlike Ori's soft, dark ones, but otherwise they were eerily similar, down to the auburn hair and wispy, no-particular-color beard.

Fari bowed low. "Majesty, Master... Baggins, was it? I am Fari, son of Buri, the scribe who will oversee your wedding ceremony. I do not know why one of royal descent..." Thorin interrupted him there.

"In truth I am royal no longer, but that is a story for another day and a discussion you are welcome to have with Murrek, if you feel so moved." Thorin gave a grim smile. "And much joy may you have of it. She has prepared our contracts, which are already in the Scriptorium. Tell us your plans." Fari smiled nervously and plucked at his beard, another gesture that reminded Bilbo irresistibly of Ori.

"As you say. I... well, I must say, I have conducted ceremonies for a number of couples, but never for ones so illustrious and never..." his smile faltered as he looked at Bilbo, then back again to Thorin. "... under quite such unique circumstances." He sighed and seemed to force a cheerful expression onto his face, fooling nobody. "When would you wish to enter the _adal_?"

Thorin looked at Dis, who grimaced. "Tomorrow is the feast to celebrate Thorin's victory over the goblins, and I intend to double it up with an announcement of Bilbo's being named _Khuzdbaha_ in honor of his efforts at Erebor," she said. Bilbo was agog; this was news to him and he was becoming rather tired of dwarven surprises. She didn't notice how his mouth thinned into a hard line, but Thorin kept glancing at him warily. "But whenever Thorin wishes after that."

"There is no need to wait, as far as I am concerned," Thorin said. "The day after the feast is fine with me, if it is acceptable to Bilbo." He glanced over, and the look in his eyes... well, it was impossible to stay irritated when someone was looking at him like _that_ , Bilbo found. Drat the dwarf anyway.

Sighing, Bilbo acquiesced. "I don't know what it means to go into the _adal_ ," he confessed, "but I am ready to be wed, so by all means let us take the next step." He smiled at Thorin as Fari cleared his throat nervously, smiling but obviously uncomfortable.

"Yes, well, that's... fine, yes, very good." Fari was a bit flushed and nervously looked down. "I will have the _adal_ prepared for two days from now, and that night will be the first night of your sequestration."

Dis spoke up unexpectedly. "Master Baggins will prepare food for Thorin," she said, smiling as though Thorin weren't glaring at her suddenly. "Please see to it that you let him know with enough warning ahead of time so that he can prepare it properly." Fari looked at them all in puzzlement.

"We will feed them both, of course," he said in surprise. "We always prepare the food, though it's hardly gourmet fare, everyone eats the same. Why...?" Thorin sighed.

"Master Baggins has to prepare my food at the moment." With a final pointed look from Thorin, Fari's face filled with belated understanding.

"Oh! Oh I see... I... well! That's... yes, that's fine... uh..." Fari looked from one to the other, then nodded slowly, face slowly losing its shocked surprise and becoming thoughtful. "Actually... thank you for telling me. That is a strong argument in favor of the marriage, much more than anything I was told by Scribe Murrek. Master Baggins, the food should be simple and bland, nothing spicy, nothing complicated. Plain breads, boiled chicken and the like. Anything you fix should not disturb the mind or body. Can you do this?" Bilbo nodded, surprised. This was hardly the complicated menu he was expecting.

"Yes, I will be cooking most of tomorrow anyway to prepare for the feast, once Thorin tells me which of the foods he desires. It will be no burden to make other foods to your requirements; send a messenger to pick them up before the feast." Fari nodded with a much more proper smile than before.

"I will do so. Thank you both. This has been most enlightening. I will see you both the day after tomorrow for the ceremonies and... joy in your marriage." With a bow and a smile at each of them in turn, Fari departed. Dis sighed and seemed ready for bed, but Bilbo turned to Thorin.

"So," he said with a wry smile, "now that I'm committed... what exactly is an _adal_?"


	21. Chapter 21

Thorin grimaced, and Dis looked away. "I'm going to bed," she announced firmly. "Good night to you both." With that she promptly fled, leaving an uncomfortable-looking Thorin with Bilbo. He opened and closed his mouth, then looked away, making the hobbit very nervous, and finally he seemed to give the whole thing up as a bad job.

"Let's discuss it tomorrow," he finally said. "It's late, and we have a long day ahead of us." Bilbo glared at him half-heartedly.

"You still haven't even chosen which foods you want me to fix, you ridiculous dwarf! You..." the hobbit had to stop because an enormous yawn split his face. He grinned sheepishly at Thorin's knowing look. "Fine, I suppose you make a strong case. But first thing tomorrow, you're going to explain what sort of new mess I've signed myself up for, _and_ select your foods. Otherwise, you'll spend a feast eating plain boiled potatoes while everyone around you has roasted beef and all the sides, and won't that just be a party to remember!" Thorin snorted, but stood for a moment more just staring at him with a soft look in his eyes. Bilbo was overcome by the fiercest yearning in days to just say 'damn the wedding' and drag the dwarf off to bed with him, but instead he smiled and said "... and just think, soon we will be married, Thorin, and we won't have to go to separate bedchambers." Grinning into the smoldering look he received in response to this, he said "Goodnight" and turned to enter his door.

"You are a terrible, terrible tease," came a baritone mutter from behind the hobbit, but even as he registered the words he heard Thorin turn and seek out his own rooms. Once he was back in the guest room with the door shut, Bilbo sank down onto a bench and put his head in his hands. Teasing Thorin was all fine and good, but what on earth had he gotten himself into now? A worry rose in his mind that it might involve some form of combat and was ruthlessly suppressed; he was quite sure someone would have told him if that were the case. He might control his mind but not his dreams, it seemed... all night he tossed and turned, waking from dreams of having to fight this dwarf or that. Just before dawn he shuffled out onto the sands of some terrifying arena to confront Thorin himself and woke shivering. Well my lad, he thought sourly, that's about enough of that; let's go cook some breakfast.

Colmu (who Bilbo was beginning to think of as 'the Eternal Colmu', given that she never seemed to leave this kitchen) was hunched over a pan preparing some sort of sauce on the stove, tasting and muttering to herself as he came in. A quick flick of the black eyes was all the greeting he got, despite his cheerful "Good morning!" and he set to work. The helpers didn't look up, but nothing new there he supposed. After a few days of rummaging about in the pantry and seeing one of the food shipments come in, he had a better idea of what was where. He began picking out items for the apple tarts on the feast menu since he knew Thorin loved them when he saw a bowl of fresh lemons, set without comment on the shelf in the pantry. "My lemons! Thank you Colmu!" he called from in the pantry, getting only a grunt in response. Smiling, he took them outside and claimed a corner of the prep table for his own.

He began to zest the lemons with a peeling blade, ignoring the curious looks from the kitchen help and then, eventually, from Colmu herself. The peeler they had yielded largeish strips instead the tiny shreds produced by a proper zester, so he minced them as fine as they would go with a chef's knife and put the resulting pieces in a bowl. By his fourth lemon, Colmu's curiosity was clearly engaged. She passed by at a normal pace, which for her was the equivalent of stopping to stare, then finally did stop and sniff a pinch of the minced peel and then taste it. Making a spitting noise, she asked "What's this for, then? Can't eat it."

"It's a dish of the Shire, you'll see. I'll let you taste it when it's finished and you can let me know if you feel it worthy." Her harrumph was loud enough that the help crouched lower over their chopping, but she seemed more amused than annoyed. He went to the pantry and came back with eggs, then filled up a large pan with water from the well. When he set a smaller pan into it, Colmu's sparse brows rose to her hairline. As he began the process of making lemon curd, he noticed her watching him from her chair, bird-bright black eyes clearly paying attention to each step. These sorts of recipe were funny, Bilbo had found; the mixture stayed messy and sloppy until all of a sudden, the whole thing would set up in an instant, so he needed to pay attention. Sure enough, it thickened all at once and coated the wooden spoon, and he pulled it off the heat. Colmu gave a deeply distrustful look to the resulting bright yellow substance which lasted until Bilbo dipped a tiny tasting spoon in it and offered it to her. 

She took the miniature spoon, glaring at it, and sighed. A bright pink tongue touched the yellow paste and withdrew. Her eyes widened almost comically, and Bilbo smiled at her as she tasted it again properly, lips smacking and nodding reluctantly. "Aye, that is... proper good." She acted as though the admission was pulled out of her, and Bilbo pretended not to notice the kitchen help goggling at them from where they were sitting. The hobbit hoped that Colmu didn't see them staring or he suspected there'd be a bit of trouble.

"It's called lemon curd, and it's rather a speciality of the Shire," Bilbo told her. "I noticed that it seemed to be unknown to Bombur, who was the only proper dwarven cook I met on my journey, but..." Colmu's loud, derisive snort gave her opinion of that statement quite succinctly.

"Bombur son of Winfur is _not_ a proper dwarven cook," she said archly, but suddenly cut her eyes back to the help as they stood there staring. "Chop!" A brief scuffle of frantic activity told Bilbo that he should brace for shouting, but Colmu merely glared for a moment before continuing. "That's not a term for calling just anyone who feels like picking up a pot. I'm surprised at you, Master Baggins, you should know better than that." He leaned back from her scowl and almost missed the amused twinkle in her eyes. "But no, 'tisn't a thing we knew to make. We always threw the skins and peels away. Am I to assume that my Thorindu will be having some of this for his own feast tonight? It weren't on the menu for anyone else, o'course, being as they don't know what it is," she said with some asperity.

Bilbo looked a bit chagrined at the reminder, but nodded nonetheless. "Yes," he said slowly, "he had it at my house and liked it very much. I hadn't thought about how it would stand out, but perhaps you're right. At any rate, there's still much to do. I told Thorin that he has to tell me which foods he wants this morning from the menu or else he'll only have cold boiled potatoes." Her cackle echoed through the kitchen and she slanted a smile at him as she ladled the finished sauce into a warming dish. The sounds of a loud conversation came through the kitchen door, and he excused himself saying "Speaking of Thorin, pardon me for a moment" and went out into the hall.

Thorin and Dis were in the middle of a discussion about mine productivity (Bilbo thought, anyway; what little her heard sounded like gibberish to him) but both stopped and greeted him. "Good morning," he said, smiling. "Now, which one of you would like to explain to me what an _adal_ is?" Thorin flushed bright red while Dis cursed under her breath.

"I thought surely my brother would have dealt with this last night," Dis grumbled, "and I'm surprised that you let him go to bed without explaining it." Bilbo hummed noncommittally, but eyed them both. Finally Thorin sighed.

"It isn't discussed at all as a rule, and certainly not something you ask about so abruptly. Even so, you weren't raised in our culture, so I will explain. The term _adal_ refers both to the physical location, a paired set of rooms, and to the period of time, a space of several days where we will each be in isolation to meditate and prepare ourselves. The purpose is to make sure that we are certain we want to take the step of marriage." Thorin looked even more uncomfortable, if such a thing was possible. "It's said to be... more. But that is never spoken of." Dis sighed loudly and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"It's never spoken of because it's a sacred mystery of Mahal, Thorin." Her look continued the sentence in a less-than-flattering way, and Bilbo chose to avert his gaze. "Once you have been through it, you won't speak of it either. Since I'm the only one of the three of us who has experienced it, yes, it is more than simply isolation. Much more. All I will say is that when you come out you will understand each other very well." Her expression was somewhat foreboding, but Bilbo discovered that really was all she would say, despite the hobbit's best wheedling. Thorin was too proud to wheedle, but just sat there looking put upon until Dis kicked him hard enough to make Bilbo wince (and Bilbo was suddenly very glad he wasn't her brother, since that kick would have hurt). "It's a sacred mystery for a reason. You'll see soon enough." They ate breakfast and Colmu's sauce turned out to be for serving over eggs; Bilbo could have drunk a bowlful of it and wished he had paid closer attention when she was making it. Sighing, he forced Thorin to make some choices from the feast menu and settled in for a long day of cooking. Some of the foods he was forced to approximate, since he had no time to cook a giant joint of meat properly, but he could take smaller slices and prepare them. He ended up baking small pastry shells for the lemon curd, and producing a large collection of tiny tartlets for serving to the entire head table, Thorin included. A tiny dollop of sweetened clotted cream dotted the top of each, thanks to the untiring kitchen help which could whisk that much cream for the time it took to thicken properly. Even so, he was exhausted by the time that the feast was prepared; for her part, Colmu waved off his concerns about getting the food served to Thorin. 

"I'll see to it, don't fash yourself," was all she said, and Bilbo stopped worrying. Even in his short time in these halls, he knew that if Colmu said she'd do it, it would be done. When he finally got changed into a formal set of clothes he had packed for the trip, he glanced at himself in the polished stone wall. Well, he thought stoically, I might feel as though I've been running footraces all day but at least I look respectable enough. He brushed the nap of the green velvet frock coat he was wearing so that it was smoothed appropriately, adjusted his waistcoat one last time, inspected the freshly-brushed hair on his feet and stepped out into the hall to wait for Dis and Thorin. From the door of the kitchen he collected a small painted box that contained the best of the lemon tarts; he would present these to Thorin before the table was served. No other hobbits would be present, but Bilbo was not about to let anyone else touch the special food that he had made for his future husband before the dwarf in question, thank you very much (and wasn't that an odd thought to have?) Future husband... he smiled to himself as Thorin arrived, wearing such rich clothing that suddenly Bilbo felt quite underdressed. Despite his worries, Bilbo had no objection to Thorin's reaction to his dress clothes; the dark-haired dwarf's eyes practically glowed when he looked at the hobbit, and his smile really should have been illegal.

"What is this?" Thorin asked, looking at the case Bilbo was carrying inquisitively.

"Something for later, now mind your business," Bilbo replied, giving a cheeky grin in response to Thorin's affronted expression (clearly false, as the tiny grin peeking through the dark beard demonstrated).

They set off to the feast halls, passing through the carved hallways and gathering a train of nobles as they went. Of course Lord Khim was present, and his enormous beard was so heavily decorated it seemed to be wearing him rather than the other way round. Bilbo noticed that the troublesome noble kept sidling over to him, but between Dis and Thorin they always managed to keep him distracted so that he never was quite able to speak, which suited the hobbit quite well. He was feeling rather sharp towards Khim at the moment after that fiasco with the mines; Thorin might have thought that it was all in a day's work to... Bilbo cut that thought off abruptly. Losing his temper, or even thinking about losing his temper, was not the way to go into a major social event in another land. Plastering a determined smile on his face, he followed Dis into the feast hall and looked around in amazement.

A line of columns in the rich, creamy stone marched down the center of the hall, stretching up to a ceiling higher than Bilbo was used to seeing in rooms here. The lamps here were more extravagant than those anywhere except in the royal quarters, but much larger than those as well. Banners hung from the columns, each with a different device rendered on it. The only one he recognized was the stars and anvil of Durin, the sign from the pillar they had passed, which hung worked in silver on deep blue over the long table in the front of the hall. The feast hall was full of dwarves; hundreds of stocky, bearded forms filled the space around the tables, all dressed in good clothes, though here or there armor could be seen. None of the dwarves were armed except the guards stationed around the perimeter of the room, which brought a bit of comfort to Bilbo. He remembered how rowdy dwarven groups could get when the ale flowed freely, and the last thing anyone needed was an incident. His wide-eyed examination of the hall was interrupted by a dwarf at his elbow.

"Master Burglar," came a deep voice. He turned and recognized the dwarf (the same Minelord... Breki, he thought?) who had promised Thorin earlier to seal the caves. Beside Breki stood a small dwarf with no trace of beard yet, and the look on his face was both fascinated and nervous. Seeing the youngster reminded Bilbo so much of Freddy it almost gave him a turn; he hoped all was well back in Hobbiton!

"Oh, hello!" Bilbo said with a smile, forcing his attention back to the dwarves in front of him. "Minelord Breki, so nice to see you." The hobbit gave an internal sigh of relief at the wide smile that resulted; clearly he had remembered the correct name. He turned to the child, "And who is this?" The boy had rich brown eyes to match dark brown hair which was shoulder length, held back only with an iron clasp into a tail in the back. He could tell already the boy would be broad across the shoulders like his father, but he didn't have the muscles of a miner or smith. It was so odd to see a dwarf with no beard, Bilbo thought, but the boy only came up to his father's shoulder, so he was clearly still quite young.

Breki smiled indulgently and pulled the boy forward. "Master Bilbo Baggins, Burglar of Erebor, allow me to present my son, Freki," he said, eyeing the lad proudly. "He was very keen to meet you. The story of your adventure with King Thorin and his companions is one of his favorites." The young dwarf blushed scarlet and clearly wanted to hide behind his father, but the older dwarf's grasp on his upper arm presented him from doing so. Bilbo revised his previous estimate of Freki's age downwards a bit.

"Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, young Master Freki!" Bilbo beamed down at the boy. He remembered Dis' meeting with Freddy, and asked "And what have you made today?" The boy seemed stunned for a moment, but the Minelord glanced approvingly at Bilbo. The boy fumbled in his pouch, finally producing a roll of paper and handing it over, ducking his head and hiding his face behind his hair for a moment.

"Freki wishes to be a scribe," Breki said, looking down at his son with a half-smile. "His mother was hoping for him to be a smith like her, but the pen spoke to him it seems." Bilbo unrolled the impromptu scroll and saw a few lines of runes over the picture of some sort of strange animal. The runes were well formed but a bit uneven, and there were some small inkblots on some of the more complex shapes. At the bottom was a drawing of what looked like a dwarf facing some sort of creature which Bilbo could only assume was supposed to be a dragon. It had wings, at any rate, but looked more like a giant pony than a proper drake.

"Hmm..." Bilbo said, smiling at the boy. "I can't read Khuzdul, so all I can say is that this is well-lettered for someone your age." Breki's eyebrows went down and he seemed a bit put out, but Dis' voice from behind Bilbo made him glance around.

"Your hand is uneven," she said in a kind voice, and pointed to the scroll Bilbo held. "The letters here and here are not the same size, and there are blots. You know this, I'm sure, but it must be said." Raising her eyebrows at Bilbo, she continued, "Master Baggins, I've seen your hand and it is quite good with the pen. Give him advice on how to improve." Bilbo felt he was missing something, but he nodded gamely.

"Well..." he glanced at the parchment again and tried not to focus on the boy's staring eyes, "Do you use a quill or a metal pen?" he finally asked. The boy seemed tongue-tied for a moment, but at his father's nudge he finally answered.

"A quill," came the soft reply. "My teacher says metal pens are too hard to make to allow children to use them." 

"Ah," Bilbo said. "Then I think I know why your letters are having problems with blotting. There is a way to sharpen the quill that holds the ink back and allows a gentle flow from the tip; if you cut it angled straight forward," here the hobbit was demonstrating with his hands, "it pools at the tip and the slightest irregularity in the paper makes a blotch, but if you cut the nib on a curve like so, leaving a sharp point, it will flow more smoothly. There's a knack to it, but you will be amazed once you get it how much of a difference it can make. Even so, a metal pen will still help you and seem easy when you're used to a quill, so you have that to look forward to." The stare had changed to a look closest to adulation, and Breki's expression was once again quite warm. Dis was smiling openly, so Bilbo assumed he was doing this right. Confound these dwarves and their customs! It seemed everything here was backward from the Shire, including how to speak to children, but so be it. "Is this beast supposed to be a dragon?" Freki nodded. "Well, it's a good try, considering you haven't seen one, but it isn't what they look like I'm afraid. Imagine..." he cast his mind back to memories of Smaug and tried not to shiver, "I have it. Have you seen lizards?" Another nod. "Imagine a snake's first few inches of neck and head on a lizard, with wings about two and a half times as wide as the body is long at full extension. And the dragon of Erebor was about twice as long as this room, for scale." Freki's eyes went distant and Bilbo knew he was trying to visualize it. Dis tugged at Bilbo's upper arm.

"Master Baggins, we should go. The feast is about to begin," Dis said with a smile. Bilbo returned the scroll to the boy who took it with a blush, examining the hobbit covertly from beneath his eyelashes. "Breki, your son will be a scribe before you know it. Keep practicing, Freki, and grow in skill." The young dwarf bobbed his head in thanks, but he continued to stare fixedly at Bilbo, as though committing the hobbit to memory.

"I think you've gained a partisan, Master Baggins," Breki said with a grin, setting a hand on his son's shoulder. "Thank you for taking a moment to speak with us. Regent, a pleasure as always."

"Of course, it was so nice to meet your son," Bilbo said. Seized by a sudden impulse, he opened the case he carried and handed a lemon tartlet to Freki, who looked at him in surprise. "In the Shire, we would no more let a child walk away without food than we would stop breathing, so here, please have one of these. I made them myself just this morning." Freki's eyes went as round as coins and he stammered his thanks. Dis cut her eyes at Bilbo, but continued smiling in a determined fashion.

"You honor us, Master Baggins," Breki said, seeming surprised. "We are in your debt." The Minelord bowed deeply, as did his son after a moment. Bilbo would have responded, but Dis practically dragged him away. The last sight the hobbit had of the pair was Freki apparently groaning in rapture at the taste of the lemon curd.

"Playing at politics?" came Dis' sardonic question as she guided Bilbo to his spot at the head table. At his obvious befuddlement, she laughed. "Giving a gift made by your own hand to an important noble's child? Or have you decided that Thorin isn't good enough, and you want a much younger suitor?" She gave a belly-laugh at Bilbo's horrified expression and spluttering denial as she led him to a chair beside Thorin. "Here, have a seat and stop causing political upheaval for long enough to have dinner if you please. Thorin, keep an eye on your burglar before he starts a rebellion and takes my throne." With that she laughed again and went to speak to someone else, leaving a puzzled dwarf eyeing his flushed and seemingly annoyed hobbit.

"What did she...?" Thorin began, only to be interrupted by Bilbo.

"I don't want to talk about it," came the curt, thoroughly exasperated reply. Thorin seemed curious, but after seeing the look on the hobbit's face just nodded.

"As you wish," Thorin said slowly. "Did I see you talking to..."

"I said, I don't want to talk about it." Bilbo folded his arms and turned away with compressed lips, choosing to ignore the grin lurking under the dark beard of his betrothed. Hmph, he thought. Ridiculous dwarf.

=

The rest of the feast passed in a blur, with speeches being made by Dis and Thorin both, Bilbo standing to wave and smile uncomfortably as he was formally announced as _Khuzdbaha_ , and the fighters who went with Thorin into the mine getting named and cheered. Most of Thorin's dishes made it to him properly, though one dish of vegetables got tasted and then set discreetly aside. At Bilbo's raised eyebrow, Thorin just shook his head. Still, the hobbit supposed, given the size of the feast, it was a strong testimonial to Colmu's ability to make things happen that there was only one mixup. When he presented the box of lemon curd tartlets to Thorin, Bilbo cherished the smile that he got; when the rest were served to the soldiers in thanks, he was praised so loudly that Dis accused him once again of trying to take her throne and overthrow the line of Durin, something she and Thorin found hysterically funny and Bilbo emphatically did not. He also drank a bit more than he thought was good for him, which didn't help him navigate socially. By the time the party was in full swing (and several dwarves had already had brawls in the middle of the floor), Lord Khim tried to make one of his insinuating proclamations to a half-drunk Bilbo, who responded at the top of his lungs "No matter how many times you ask me, Lord Khim, I will not find you a hobbit wife. As I told you, you simply must go to the Shire and meet people for yourself!" The raucous hilarity that ensued didn't gain Bilbo any popularity with the troublesome noble, but he thought Thorin might die of proud amusement and the other nobles showed no signs of letting Khim live the moment down any time soon. As they staggered home, Bilbo thought he might not make it back to his bed.

The next day was a blur, spent mainly in recovering from the terrible hangover from the feast and cooking enough bland food for Thorin's stay in the _adal_ , whatever that entailed. Soon enough, they were leaving accompanied by Fari, headed into the depths of the mountain to the Scriptorium. Bilbo wasn't sure what was coming next.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so... this is about as anti-fluff as it gets... in this story, anyway. For those who have problems with such things, this has a scene of severe abuse and a scene of suicidal ideation (though not realized). FYI.
> 
> I promise it will fluff up again, but Thorin didn't have a very good life for a long time, as previously noted.

Bilbo and Thorin had been separated for over an hour and the hobbit had been left to cool his heels in a bare stone chamber. Finally Fari arrived and led Bilbo down the hall and into a small empty room, lit only by a single lamp. Two doors led off of it, one standing open and one closed already, with a rope wrapped between the handle and an iron bar on the wall, tied and sealed with a piece of clay. Is Thorin in there?, Bilbo wondered. He supposed so. Fari turned and spoke, the cadence of his voice making Bilbo think this was a prepared speech.

"The time has come to enter the _adal_. This is a sacred place, a place of learning. You have come to learn the heart of the one you will join. It is not magic, but the power of Mahal himself which causes minds to share, souls to touch. This is not a thing to be entered lightly. If you are not ready, or if you do not wish to proceed, speak now. There is no dishonor in it." Fari stared at Bilbo, who stared back. It truly was eerie how similar this dwarf looked to Ori except for his eyes, and he suddenly wished with all his heart that it could be his friend doing this for him, instead of a similar-looking stranger. The hobbit finally nodded and murmured agreement; this was important to Thorin, and therefore by extension important to him as well. Fari acknowledged his choice with a smile and then continued. "Have you been told of what is to come?" Bilbo hesitated. He had, but he wasn't sure what to expect even so. Fari seemed to understand. "I will explain it, then. If you already know, to hear it again will not hurt. You will spend a minimum of three nights and two days in this chamber. I say 'a minimum' because for difficult or complicated matches, it is not unknown to take longer for the souls of the two to harmonize. For you, not being a dwarf, we do not know what to expect." Fari looked grim for a moment. "As _Khuzdbaha_ , you will doubtless be unsurprised by the subject of the sequestered nights. If your spirit reacts as a dwarf's would, the first night is called the Night of Loss; you will see in your dreams the times when your betrothed has suffered great loss. The second night is the Night of Struggle, when your betrothed has fought hardest for something of value. The third night is the Night of Joy or the Night of Hope, depending on how one wishes to translate the word; in Khuzdul, they are the same. After the third night, I will return and you will be brought to the door. If it opens, your time in the _adal_ is complete. Do you understand?" Bilbo nodded, but Fari's waiting look implied that a verbal acknowledgement must be a requirement.

"Yes, I understand," he said softly. Fari nodded in approval, giving a bashful smile that reminded Bilbo so strongly of Ori he was almost unnerved.

"Master Baggins... I will deviate from the accustomed speech, as you are the first non-dwarf known to undergo these rituals. King Thorin was... very forthright in his opinion that this marriage was willed by Mahal, but there is no precedent. We dwarves do not like new and unknown things, you may have noticed." He grinned in mild embarrassment at Bilbo, who chuckled.

"I have indeed," Bilbo said. "'Untested rock' and so forth." Fari laughed once in amazement, seeming to surprise himself with his own reaction, before visibly calming his face.

"You truly are _Khuzdbaha_ ," he murmured. "How strange that an outsider would know so much of our ways. It is likely that this bodes well for the union. Even so," he turned those unnerving golden eyes onto Bilbo, radiating earnestness, "you are no dwarf; I do not know what you will find here, and there is no way to predict. If you do not dream at all the first night, or if sleep refuses to come, have the attendant fetch me. Other than that, do not attempt to interact with the attendants; it is forbidden. They will not speak to you beyond the minimum necessary, and they will under no circumstances discuss anything with you. Only I and the attendants can come to you in the _adal_ , remember that, and I should be summoned only in the direst need." Fari drew a breath and looked away, then back with a grim expression. "I will tell you also, what happens in the _adal_ is sacred and secret; it should not be discussed with anyone but your beloved, and even then only if you wish it. The attendants are sworn to secrecy, as am I. We would be put to death if we breathe a word of what transpires here for anyone. That being said... Since you are no dwarf and have no other way to know, I do not break any rules by telling you this: this process is often unpleasant, especially the first two nights." Fari looked away. "Those of us who have been through it know all too well how harrowing it can be to see into the soul of another, even one who is loved. Be strong, and know that others have done as you are doing for thousands of years." With that Fari beckoned, and Bilbo entered the door.

When they got inside the room, another door at the back appeared and an attendant stepped forward, bowing. The attendant was rather unnerving, Bilbo thought. It was presumably a dwarf, but one hidden completely beneath heavy grey robes. No trace of flesh or beard was visible; gloved hands, heavy cowl and a thick robe muffled all sounds, and as it moved (even gender couldn't be determined) the swishing of fabric had a disturbing, almost serpentine sound. The chamber was small, containing only a glowing crystal lamp with a cover beside it, a stone chair and table, and a slab of stone with a blanket on it. There was a strange smell in here that Bilbo had last smelled in the mines; the scent of wet rock. A dwarf probably wouldn't notice it - might even find it comforting, Bilbo realized - but it drove home to him how out of place a hobbit was here. In one corner sat a covered chamberpot. The hobbit wondered if he was expected to sleep the entire period; there didn't seem to be anything else to do in the space, and he could only imagine the boredom which would result from such isolation. Almost as if reading his mind, Fari spoke. "You have come to the _adal_ , the chamber of understanding. Your task here is both simple and overwhelming; here you will learn the soul of your betrothed, and learn your own soul as well. Do not fear boredom." Fari gave him a sympathetic look that caused Bilbo a bit of worry. "If you are matched as your betrothed feels you are, there will be much to consider, and this is the place to do so, unbothered by outside concerns. Still your mind, and know your heart." Fari bowed. "I will see you when you emerge, and may Mahal guide you in wisdom."

Bilbo nodded and bowed belatedly, and Fari smiled one last time as he went back outside. The door swung shut followed by a rustling sound. Bilbo realized Fari was most likely sealing the outer door with rope and clay to match the one in the antechamber that (he assumed) led to the room occupied by Thorin. When he turned back around the attendant had placed a tray of simple food on the table, just boiled potatoes and a piece of chicken. "Eat, then sleep. It is time." The attendant's voice matched its appearance, genderless and toneless. Bowing, the robed form went back through the door in the back of the room and closed it. All trace of the door vanished, and Bilbo couldn't even see a line to mark where it had been. Shaking his head, he ate the food and sat for a moment. He wasn't particularly sleepy, but thought if this was the ritual, so be it. He covered the lamp and felt his way over to where the bed was, climbing up onto the stone slab. No sooner had he crawled beneath the blanket than sleep claimed him and visions swam up from the darkness.

=

A boyish Thorin stood proudly in an open space in a rich and lavish room. He was so young that only a dark fuzz appeared on his cheeks, but his features were instantly recognizable. He looked younger than Bilbo had ever imagined him; standing in front of him was a dwarf Bilbo knew had to be his father Thrain, carrying a heavy leather strap. His father was missing an eye but the hair, the remaining eye, the line of the jaw were the same as the young Thorin facing him, though unlike Thorin he looked miserable. Others sat nearby; there was a white-haired king with a long beard, presumably Thror, watching pitilessly from a carved stone chair, accompanied by a young blond dwarf whose beard hadn't come in yet and a tiny child (Dis?) with no beard sucking on her fingers on the lap of a dwarrowdam Bilbo knew must be Thorin's mother. He couldn't see her face, as she was determinedly facing the baby and away from the scene in the center of the room. "I'm sorry, Thorin," Thrain said in a soft whisper. "This... this isn't..." Bilbo realized that Thrain was speaking Khuzdul, but somehow he understood.

Thorin drew himself up proudly, chin lifted, and Bilbo could see in the young dwarf the echoes of the king who was to come. "Do what you are ordered to do. The king's word is law." His face barely moved as his father swung the strap. He was careful to turn his face so that his tears weren't visible, though his jaw muscles jumped with each strike; he didn't see the matching tears on the face of his father. The king watched with the same disinterest a man might bring to sorting grains, clearly only here to ensure his will was being done. Coins clinked from one heavily-ringed hand to the next as he watched his son thrash his grandson mercilessly, but the bitter old face seemed focused a thousand miles away. Bilbo felt sick to his stomach, like he himself was being beaten by the time the scene faded.

=

With shocking suddenness, Bilbo found himself in the middle of battle. Dwarves battled in the midst of twisted, misshapen orcs and goblins, legions of them. Thorin seemed unburdened by his heavy armor and whirled in circles, parrying and thrusting, rolling and dodging, fighting with some of the grace Bilbo had seen in person, but he was still much younger than the sturdy king Bilbo knew. Covered in black blood, Thorin looked up, smiling grimly at the sight of Thrain hacking his way through more orcs than Bilbo had ever imagined could exist in one place. Dwarves were everywhere, fighting and killing... but they were being killed as well. Bilbo saw many stocky forms in armor lying still on the ground, far too many, and looking about the field he realized that this must be Azanulbizar. In the distance was a wood, but the fighting was being done in an open space in front of massive steps leading up to an empty gateway. The side of the mountain shot up around the gate in a sheer rock face. Even in the memory, Bilbo knew that he would rather die than go through that gate, and the memory itself wavered like a nightmare for a moment before he refocused on Thorin. A blond dwarf who looked eerily like Fili called to Thorin, waving. Thorin shouted "Frerin! Go back!" but the blond dwarf just smiled and waved, overjoyed to see a familiar face. He never saw the giant troll that picked him up from behind and crushed his skull. Thorin's scream of loss would haunt the hobbit for the rest of his life.

=

Thorin sat in a room Bilbo had never seen, or even seen the like of, except in Laketown. Clearly it was made for humans, but it was filthy and ramshackle, the ill-made, crooked door hung askew on rusty hinges. It was a tiny cubbyhole of a room for a man, but for a dwarf, it was barely sufficient. Thorin sat on the edge of the too-large bed, booted feet dangling, sharpening a knife with a whetstone. He seemed calm, but Bilbo could tell just by looking at him that something was seriously wrong by the set of his jaw and the slump in his shoulders. The harsh _shrrkkk_ of the stone on the blade was the only sound in the room, though a noisy common-room could be heard through the door. He looked exhausted, eyes red and sunken, hair hanging filthy and limp, face old beyond his years. Tears slid down his cheeks and into his beard, which was ragged and more unkempt than Bilbo had ever seen it. With each stroke of stone across steel, Thorin seemed to shrink into himself a little more. Bilbo wondered where the dwarves were, what had happened, when in their long, tragic history was this moment to be found. He watched in growing horror as Thorin tested the edge of the blade and then slowly pressed the point against his own throat, just under his jaw. Blue eyes clamped shut. Broad shoulders tensed. At that precise moment, there was a pounding on the door.

"What?" Thorin growled, voice hoarse and almost unrecognizable. The knife didn't move.

"Thorin," came Dis' voice clearly through the thin wood, sounding younger than Bilbo had ever heard but clearly exasperated, oblivious to what was taking place inside. "The boys need you. They say only you can fix whatever they've done now, Mahal help us all." He hunched over even further, but the knife dropped from his fingers with a clatter. Bilbo was overwhelmed with relief, but the feeling of misery was still so thick in the room he was drowning in it. He watched sobs wrack the strong form in front of him, shaking Thorin's shoulders and clenching battered fingers in his dark hair, but none of the despair Bilbo could see so clearly could be heard in Thorin's reply.

"I will come." With a long glance at the knife on the floor, the dwarf slumped and wiped his face. He picked it up and stared at it for a moment, then shook his head slowly. Slipping it back into his belt sheath he stood for a moment then moved to the door. As he took a deep breath with his hand on the latch, darkness fell.

=

Bilbo fought his way free of the blanket and leaped out of bed with a shout, panting and trying not to scream. He looked around the room frantically in the pitch darkness, fumbling around until he had removed the shade from the lamp. His heart was racing; he wanted nothing more than to break through the sealed door and find Thorin. He knew intellectually that these dreams were Thorin's past (if the dwarves were correct, and his mind wasn't just making up horrible stories to frighten him) but it seemed so real... the hobbit's heart was half-convinced that Thorin was sitting in misery somewhere right at that moment... or worse. The commotion must have attracted an attendant; without warning the door opened and the robed dwarf appeared, a moving mound of whispering fabric. He had no way to know if it was the same one who had brought him in or not.

"You must sleep," came the quiet, toneless voice. "These things must be known." Even the voice sounded the same.

"I... but these are terrible things," Bilbo said softly. The hooded head inclined but the robed dwarf retreated, closing the door. "Terrible things," he whispered with tears wetting his cheeks, clutching himself, arms wrapped tight enough around his middle that he could pretend they were Thorin's. He slowly lay back down on the bed, convinced he would not sleep any more. His eyes slammed shut immediately, whirling him away into sleep again.

=

With a shock, Bilbo recognized where he was and saw himself, standing in front of Thorin. Gloin, Dori and the others stood huddled around the throne in the ruined hall of Erebor's kings. Fili and Kili were missing, of course, still recovering from their wounds, but Balin was staring at Thorin like he had lost his mind. In the memory, Bilbo saw how lost and alone he himself had looked, standing in front of the cracked throne and its wounded occupant; his confusion and heartbreak were plainly visible, as were Thorin's (with his new understanding of Thorin's body language, it was painfully obvious). Both of them were waiting for the other to say something that they didn't know needed to be said. As many times as Bilbo had had nightmares about this day, he was surprised to see it appear on the Night of Loss. As they said their final goodbyes, Bilbo slumped and turned to go and Gandalf led him away. This time, though, Bilbo saw Thorin's face turn grey and pale as the hobbit in the vision turned and he wanted to cry all over again. The other dwarves stared at the departing hobbit with faces stark with disbelief, some looking back and forth to Thorin, and Bilbo realized that Thorin's feelings weren't the secret he had thought (and implied to Bilbo) they were. He also realized that the whole company had tacitly approved, given that they were present. Surprise and sorrow were visible on every face. Balin leaned over and placed a sturdy hand on Thorin's shoulder.

"Why?" Thorin whispered, choking on the word. Agonized blue eyes stared at the tiny form retreating through the door. "Why?" Balin had no answer.

=

Thorin stood with Kili, who looked older and more worn than Bilbo had ever seen him look. They were in some ruined courtyard Bilbo had never seen, presumably in Erebor. Fili was huddled against a wall with his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs. Kili was shouting, "But why? What do we tell the others? Your companions? How can you just... leave everyone like this?"

Thorin's face was as lined and grim as if he were fighting. "Kili, I cannot eat. You know what that means. If I wish to have any chance to see him again before the end, I must leave now. I should have left already. You two must rule, and do your duty." Clouds scudded overhead, casting a chiaroscuro of moving shadows across the broken walls but nephew and uncle had eyes only for each other.

"But Uncle..." Kili's face was miserable and stricken. "I..." Thorin didn't wait for him to finish the sentence.

"Tell them I am dead." With that, the king swung a small pack onto his back, lifted the case Bilbo recognized as his toolbox, and set off. Over his shoulder, he called "It's hardly a lie."

=

After that last vision, Bilbo woke normally and sleep would not come again. The hobbit was huddled in the corner when the attendant appeared. The shrouded form placed a tray of food down on the table, bowed and left. He struggled upright and ate a few mouthfuls, but the food had no savor because of the night's visions. They wouldn't leave his mind. He kept circling around and around the images of Thorin, loss after loss, misery upon misery, the despair in the filthy room... it hung in the chamber like a miasma. The only break came after he had been awake for long hours, when he suddenly remembered Dis commenting on how many dwarves never fell in love and never married. His laughter at this sounded hysterical even to him, but he couldn't stop giggling for a long time. The day crept by, such as it was; buried deep in the mountain, sealed in this chamber, it could be any time or no time at all. He looked up at one point as the attendant entered, but it was only to carry off the chamberpot and replace it with an identical one. Bilbo hadn't realized how accustomed he had become to having Thorin around in the past two months, but he felt painfully lonely. After another stretch of time, the attendant reappeared with food, placing it on the table. The featureless cowl turned to him and said "Eat, then sleep. It is time." The hobbit was only mildly hungry, having sat about all day, but the prospect of another night like the last chilled Bilbo to his very bones. Almost shaking with dread, he crawled under the blanket laid out on the stone slab and he was immediately pulled into sleep.

=

A young Thorin stood at the forge, shirtless and smiling in fierce triumph as he hammered. As in the first vision from the previous night, his first beard was just a shadow across his cheeks, but even without his beard he was so handsome he took the hobbit's breath away to watch. His chest was furry like Bilbo's feet, something the hobbit had known already, but seeing it like this, sweaty and glistening... Muscles rippled as the hammer struck, and Bilbo was in danger of forgetting the purpose of the dream entirely. Iron curled around in a precise shape, clearly wrought with great care though the form meant nothing to the hobbit. Each hammer strike made a musical sound, and an older dwarf standing nearby nodded slowly as he watched. Suddenly, the sound changed; first the hammer hit with a _clunk_ instead of the musical _ting_ , and then with a harsh click the red-hot iron snapped, falling onto Thorin's hand and searing a burned stripe across it. He cursed and drew back. The old dwarf kept nodding, as though this were perfectly normal. The fierce look in Thorin's eyes was eerily familiar to Bilbo; this was the driven Thorin he knew, though younger. Without a word, the fragments of iron were picked up with tongs and thrust into a nearby bucket of quench, then angrily tossed in the scrap pile. Choosing another red-hot bar from the forge, Bilbo watched the young dwarf take a deep, centering breath and start again. He never even looked at the burn across his hand.

=

A slightly older Thorin sat at a desk, piled high with scrolls and parchments, making notes on a wax tablet. The blond dwarf Bilbo had seen before appeared, face wreathed in the mischievous smiles that were clearly his normal expression. Thorin's beard was fuller here, and Frerin's was coming in as well, patchy and scruffy. "What are you doing, Thorin?" 

" _Sigin'adad_ instructed me to understand the trade numbers from Khand," Thorin said, warm baritone voice eerily similar to the one Bilbo knew despite this undoubtedly being over a hundred years before, long before Bilbo was born. "And so I am studying them, looking for profit."

"Either you aren't finding much or they don't make much sense, it seems," came the mocking reply, the young dwarf craning his head around, trying to read Thorin's notes upside down. A wordless growl was the response, but Thorin didn't even look up.

"Frerin, you are a worse pest than Dis," he said, staring fixedly at the columns of numbers on the scroll. "And she's only a pebble, so she has an excuse. You have none." Snorting laughter was the response, and the younger dwarf began trying to surreptitiously steal the scroll from beneath the one Thorin was looking at. Sighing, he looked up with a weary glare just as a harsh voice came from behind Bilbo's viewpoint in the dream.

"And this is the heir to my throne, to my shame. Playing at games with his baby brother instead of studying. As useless as his father. I suppose it's only what I could have expected." Thror wandered into view, and now that he was close Bilbo thought he had never seen such cold eyes in his life. Even when Thorin had been gold-sick, he had been mad but not like this. He realized that Thror's eyes actually looked eerily like Smaug's, just as cold and reptilian despite the difference in color. Coins clinked in his hands as he walked.

" _Sigin'adad_ ," Thorin said, bowing his head. Frerin immediately began speaking in a fearful voice.

"It's my fault, grandfather, I'm sorry, I came here and..." Thror held up his hand, and silence fell. The king slowly circled the seated dwarf, and Frerin cringed back. Thorin didn't even look up, determinedly keeping his attention on the column of figures.

=

Thorin stood at an anvil in what looked like a stable, straw around his feet. A portable forge glowed cherry-red beside him, but he was unfazed by the heat. A man stood before him, wearing decent clothes that had seen better days and missing his front teeth. His eyes were unfriendly on Thorin, but he held out a bag that clinked with coins. "Here's your wages. You do passable work, even if you are a filthy dwarf." The man spit on the floor and Thorin's eyes flashed for a moment before he bowed his head.

"My thanks," came the cool reply as the small bag of coins vanished into Thorin's pockets. The man's mouth twisted and it looked as though he might speak again, but he turned and wandered off. Thorin closed his eyes and slumped against the anvil, but soon straightened. A tiny blond head came around the wall of an empty stall, Durin-blue eyes enormous in a pinched, hungry-looking face. "Here," Thorin said, passing the pouch unopened into small hands. "Take this to your mother. Tell Dis to buy food. I will be home as soon as I may." The pebble nodded, and Bilbo realized this was Fili, though the half-starved waif looked nothing like the handsome prince he knew. Thorin smiled down at the tiny face. "I am counting on you."

"Yes, Uncle," came the lisping reply. Without a word, the little dwarfling scampered off, pouch clutched firmly in both hands. Thorin looked at the anvil and his eyes blazed with that same determination Bilbo had seen in each vision so far. Thorin picked up a horseshoe out of the forge and began to shape it as the vision faded to black.

=

Bilbo found himself in a place that looked familiar, and with shock he recognized the forge in Hobbiton. Thorin was staring intently at something in the forge, pulling it out and tapping it, then putting it back but the hobbit couldn't make out what it was. Finally he pulled it all the way out and Bilbo recognized the steel pauldron they had found the first day. Thorin braced the piece in a vise and used shears to trim off a strip of red-hot steel. He immediately thrust the rest of the pauldron back into the flames but the strip was taken to the anvil. With a tiny hammer he shaped it, wrapping it around and using the edges of the anvil itself to curve it and round it into... a rose. Bilbo remembered his rosebush and sudden, overwhelming amazement seized him. He watched as Thorin shaped the flower, formed each petal, filed off the edges, and used burins and gravers to place the lines and striations on it, slowly transforming the strip of steel into a perfect ring of rose petals, spiraling inward to the core of iron. As his last action, he coiled it around a waiting iron piece with the hammered sphere Bilbo had seen inside the roses on the bush.

Setting the finished flower to one side, Thorin smiled to himself. As he pulled the glowing remains of the pauldron out to cut off another strip, Bilbo's vision faded.

=

The sound of the door opening shocked Bilbo fully awake from where he lay drifting and thinking of what he had just seen. He lay on the stone bed watching the robed attendant set out the morning meal. Without a word, the cloth-wrapped figure vanished back into the wall and the door closed again. The first night was horrible, but the visions of the second night were almost more disturbing. What had Fari said? The Night of Struggle? They certainly showed struggles but... why were his roses part of them? Was making the roses as miserable for Thorin as the others had seemed? Was he a burden? Just the thought was like a cold blade stabbing into him. He racked his mind as to why. That couldn't be right... could it? He couldn't even eat, stomach so twisted at the idea that he was a burden to Thorin or a source of misery like Thror, though it was the only vision where Thorin hadn't looked unhappy. As he sat staring at the cold food on the table, he heard Fari's voice like an echo in his head. "...the Night of Struggle, when your betrothed has fought hardest for something of value." Oh, Bilbo thought dumbly. Something of... value. Oh. Tears slid down his cheeks. After a few minutes composing himself, he choked down the bland fare.

The day passed achingly slowly and he could think of nothing but the dwarf he loved. By now, loneliness was a constant and painful companion. His thoughts spiraled endlessly around and around, replaying images from both nights, stringing them together in new configurations. Thorin had told him before that his life had not been a pleasant one, but that seemed to Bilbo like describing the sea as slightly damp. Dis had tried to tell him in her own way, and he had thought that he had understood, but it came to him finally that he had not, could not, and might never be able to conceive of how much suffering Thorin had been through. After the visions of the night before and that horrible scene of Thorin on the first night Bilbo vowed two things. First, that he would change his pet name for Thorin; after seeing that wretched man call him a 'filthy dwarf', he felt the word had been irrevocably tainted and he regretted ever starting it. He would never again be able to say 'ridiculous dwarf' (or anything similar) without seeing that hateful face in his mind, and he would rather die than remind Thorin of something so pointless and vile. Second, he knew that he would never again allow Thorin to answer him when he couldn't see his face. Memories of the first night rose for what seemed the thousandth time to choke him. To hear that calm voice that gave no hint of what was going on behind the door... that might be a useful talent to have as a king, but Bilbo vowed that no husband of his would ever have need to hide his misery from him, and he would fight like a cornered badger to ensure that Thorin never again felt such misery if he could help it. Green Lady, grant that it be so, he prayed. Almost as if in answer to this prayer, the door opened and the attendant brought the evening meal.

"Eat, then sleep. It is time," came the now-familiar instructions. The attendant departed and Bilbo remembered that this was the Night of Hope (or Joy, depending). He wondered what visions this night would bring. Nothing he had seen so far seemed very joyful. With trepidation, he crawled beneath the blanket and whirled away into sleep.


	23. Chapter 23

The dream started slowly, scene fading in unlike before. Bilbo saw a Thorin he barely recognized. The dwarf was younger even than Freki son of Breki here, barely more than a pebble. He was showing something to his mother, who the hobbit recognized from previous memories. She looked down smiling, then held up a dagger. "Thorindu, this is very good. You made this yourself?" Small-Thorin nodded, and his pride was plainly visible. The dwarrowdam held it up and sighted down the blade. "It holds a keen edge, blade is true, balance is good," she weighed it in one hand. "You haven't been working iron very long, and even so you've done amazingly well. I think you've found your skill." She examined it, clearly trying to find something negative to say (which Bilbo was coming to realize was the custom). Finally she pointed to a spot on the hilt. "The wrapping here isn't exactly even with the rest." The boy nodded solemnly.

"Thank you, _amad_ ," Thorin said, voice higher than Bilbo had ever heard it. "If you don't want it..." She snatched the dagger back and cradled it protectively, beaming at the child who was now grinning back.

"Don't want it? It's mine and I'll keep it! In fact, I'll fight anyone who tries to take it. Such a fine blade should be battle tested, don't you think?" They smiled at each other again for a shining moment before the memory dissolved.

=

Bilbo realized he was in the mountains, and it looked like the Shire... or the Blue Mountains. He realized that the latter was correct when he saw the cave entrance; the surrounding valley was the same he had seen when they arrived at Shahrulbizad, but there was nothing here yet. Tents were set up with dwarves moving this way and that; he even recognized a younger Balin in the distance. Thorin was seated at a campfire and looked exhausted, worn and beaten, but the expression on his face was triumphant. When are we, Bilbo wondered. How did so many years go by without... oh Thorin, he thought in desperate sympathy. In the memory, another dwarf the hobbit had never seen was grinning back with a similar look. "This mountain is strong and there's a lot of metal here, Thorin. We can make a home here. Easily. Or should I say, _King_ Thorin? Our people will have a city again."

"Mahal grant that it be so," Thorin said, and Bilbo heard the catch in his voice. Darkness fell.

=

When the scene resolved, Bilbo almost fell over. He knew this scene all too well; in fact, he remembered it himself. He watched himself walking through Beorn's yard, smiling and smoking his pipe, admiring the enormous flowers. Bilbo's first thought upon seeing himself was: I looked like a beggar, why did nobody tell me? Still, he was a bit surprised; He hadn't known Thorin was anywhere nearby that day. He certainly hadn't realized he was being watched, though looking around he spotted the dwarf tucked into the shadows of the porch. As he watched himself smiling and walking in the sunlight, not doing anything in particular, he turned to examine Thorin and stopped. The look on his dwarf's face was sweet and painfully smitten; Bilbo thought Thorin's whole heart was on his face. The soft eyes, the half-smile, the lazy contentment of the dwarf's posture... he never saw the prickly dwarf king look like that at all on the trip. He wouldn't have thought it was even possible if not for the time the dwarf had spent living with him in his smial.

Sunlight sparkled on the hobbit's curls as he turned to glance back to the porch, and he saw Thorin withdraw further into the shadows. Oh Thorin, by the Green Lady, the hobbit thought in disgust, if you had just let me catch you looking at me like that... well, you wouldn't have had to worry about getting to where you couldn't eat, that's for certain, and the last three years would have been quite, quite different. Not for the first time, he wondered why Thorin always seemed to have to do things the difficult way, but even his exasperation was fond as he watched Thorin watching the him-that-was wander aimlessly and sniff flowers and smoke in the sunlight. This is the oddest memory yet, Bilbo thought, there's no event or beginning or end, just... and with that, the scene faded.

=

The treasure hall armory of Erebor formed around him and Bilbo almost turned away; this was the first shared memory that the hobbit thought he might not be willing to confront. While it might be a positive memory to Thorin, Bilbo couldn't say the same. Thorin stood in front of another past Bilbo, holding out the mithril corselet. This was the gold-mad Thorin, suspiciously staring eyes and clenched jaw, but even so Bilbo could see the craving and desperate love burning on his face. He hadn't seen that when he had been the one standing there. All he had seen was lunacy, and all he had felt was gnawing fear and uncertainty, hiding the Arkenstone from the crazed, gold-haunted dwarven king. He watched in sorrow as the past-him took the armor and put it on with shaking hands. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Thorin had been truly mad, now... nobody in their right mind could have looked at Bilbo's face and not seen the guilt and shame that burned there, the discomfort screaming out of his eyes, the tension of his mouth as he mumbled empty pleasantries. Thorin's hands clutched at him far more than he had remembered. He realized now that what Dis had told him in his kitchen was right... even in the depths of his madness, Thorin had no words to express what he so clearly felt. What had she said? 'This is a dwarf's whole heart, handed to you to keep.' And watching this... she was so clearly right he was confounded. What was I thinking?, Bilbo reflected. How did I miss this? How did I not see? He watched his own fearful eyes appear over Thorin's shoulder as they embraced in seeming friendship and Bilbo wanted to shout into his own ear: you are a fool. He was glad he had seen it again with new eyes, but he still welcomed the dissolution of the scene.

=

"Since dwarves seem to like everything to be formal and stated clearly, let me try this. I, Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo Baggins, hereby formally forgive Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, of the line of Durin, for any offenses or harms he has committed to me, intentionally or unintentionally, during the entire time of our previous acquaintance. As of tonight, we are starting from a clean slate." Bilbo heard the words before the scene even formed, and he knew exactly where they were. He stared at himself sprawled across Thorin's lap, marveling that he had been willing to be so completely and utterly shameless. He remembered saying those words, though now he saw them through the lens of what he now knew about dwarves and felt amused. The look on Thorin's face was perfectly priceless; the hobbit didn't think he had ever seen him look so stunned, before or since. He felt briefly embarrassed watching the past him stroke Thorin's hair, but he still remembered all too well how overwhelmed and incredulous he had felt to find out that Thorin had felt an attraction to him after years of lonely pining. As the dwarf and hobbit in front of him exchanged food, and Bilbo watched his own scandalous display, if he'd had a body he would have hidden his face. How he had been able to leave that scene and go to his lonely bed was a marvel. He felt like his heart would burst from affection for Thorin as the scene faded.

=

Bilbo woke for the first time since he had entered the room feeling something other than miserable. The past two nights, he had wakened feeling harrowed from his dreams, but now he only felt empty and expectant, waiting for something. That drove home that it was finally the time when he would see Thorin again... at least, if the door opened. A new thought occurred to him, though, and he felt foolish not to have considered it before: if he had seen these scenes from Thorin's past, what had Thorin seen during his nights? A cold wave passed over him. Green Lady, he thought bitterly, what did he see? In spite of the cold sinking feeling in his gut, he wondered how many of the scenes he had seen appeared in Thorin's dreams as well. The separation in the throne room of Erebor had been a nightmare for years, almost certainly that... Still, he reasoned, he hadn't had anything approaching the loss, misery and suffering that he had seen in Thorin's life. When he had lost his parents, of course, that was likely, but there were no armies, no abusive relatives, no sneering Bree-men. It was a somewhat more bitter mouthful to realize that he hadn't had a great deal of struggle either, just long days of empty pointlessness and (if he was being honest) moping. The thought of anyone seeing so much of him left him feeling naked, but he supposed it was only fair since he had seen so deeply into Thorin's heart, and truly if it had to be anyone on Arda to see him so, he was content for it to be Thorin. Sighing, he distracted himself by picking at his clothes. He felt a bit ratty and dirty, since he hadn't been able to wash beyond cleaning his face and hands with a damp cloth. Fari had indicated that he would be told whether he could leave, but...

A quiet voice behind him made Bilbo almost jump out of his skin. "Approach the door, and go forth if it will open." He whipped around to see the attendant bowing to him. 

"You frightened me," he said, feeling silly for explaining, but the robed dwarf ignored him as always, gliding away silently into the rear entrance and closing the door behind itself. Bilbo walked over to the door, remembering the rope and the clay. Was this part of the mystery?, he wondered. Or did someone come and remove it? He hadn't heard anything but that didn't mean that it hadn't been opened. Feeling a bit odd and silly, he pushed against the door and it opened easily. There was a soft noise, and dust settled to the floor as Bilbo stepped out into the antechamber he had been in what felt like years before. Fari stood there watching but all the hobbit's attention was taken by sound of the other door opening. This time he saw the rope and clay seal dissolve with his own eyes; in only a moment, it flashed into nothingness as though it had never been there - not even a tiny scrap of hemp fiber or crumb of clay was left, just fine powdery dust. Thorin stepped out of the other room and stopped when he saw Bilbo. When their eyes met, the dwarf made a harsh, guttural sound low in his throat. Bilbo was across the room before he even thought about his own actions, clinging to Thorin and crying in spite of himself. Thorin's arms that he had missed so much were around him again, and the moisture in his hair told him by touch alone that Thorin was shedding tears as well. "I'm so sorry," Bilbo whispered, not even caring if Thorin could hear him. He was so choked it probably sounded like nonsense, but he said it anyway. "Thorin, I'm so sorry." Thorin was murmuring something in return, but Bilbo couldn't make it out. Aren't we a pair, the hobbit thought, but to feel his dwarf's embrace again was like finding a meal when starving.

Belatedly the hobbit realized he was likely scandalizing Fari with this public demonstration. Bilbo looked over guiltily but the scribe was smiling fondly at the two of them. How strange, Bilbo thought, but he felt lucky all the same; he couldn't have stepped away from Thorin at that moment if an army had appeared and told him he would be killed if he refused to do so. "King Thorin, Master Baggins, it seems I owe you an apology," Fari said. "You were correct, and all my misgivings were misplaced. You are indeed perfectly matched, and I'm sorry for doubting you." Bilbo felt Thorin shudder, a whole body shivering that made him wonder what the _adal_ experience had been for his beloved. If his own experience was any guide, it had likely not been pleasant.

"Why..." Bilbo had to stop and clear his throat, then began again. Slowly, he was able to force himself to release his deathgrip on Thorin, stepping back but even so leaving his hand on Thorin's arm for comfort. "Why do you say that?"

Fari's smile turned a bit melancholy. "The seals dissolved completely, for one thing. But your reactions speak clearly if nothing else. I have seen poorly matched people emerge from the _adal_ unable to look at each other; one couple even performed the ceremony of severing in this very room, unwilling to go forward with the one they thought they knew. Rarely do two so immediately turn to one another for comfort, but..." His gesture was expressive, hands spread and smiling broadly. Bilbo glanced back at Thorin, who was staring at him sheepishly from under his brows. He's embarrassed, the hobbit realized. Fari apparently noticed as well. "There is no need for shame. As I said before, what happens here is secret, and I am delighted to see that you are so well-matched. Still, I must ask for the sake of ensuring that the forms are met: do you both still wish to wed, to be _mashahnen_?" Bilbo almost shook his head before realizing that might be seen as a negation; how many times must he say that he did? The thought that others saw things so terrifying in the _adal_ that they would separate rather than go forward was quite disturbing, but he knew in his heart that for him, there was only one possible answer.

"Yes, of course," he said, glancing at Thorin.

"More than anything," came the hoarse response from Thorin, who was staring fixedly at the floor.

"Then _mashahnen_ you are in the sight of Mahal, from now until the remaking of the world," came Fari's smiling response. "Be blessed by Mahal and may there always be joy in your marriage." With that he handed a silvery bead to Thorin and one to Bilbo. The hobbit looked at it curiously, turning it over in his fingers, and was surprised when Thorin's fingers quickly found his hair. He held still as strong hands deftly wove a second braid with a complicated pattern and clasped it with a bead. He looked at Thorin, the bead, and Fari.

"I... don't understand," Bilbo said. "Is there not a ceremony for the wedding?" For the first time in the hobbit's experience, Fari seemed perplexed.

"Master Baggins... what further ceremony could be needed? What do you feel is left undone? You have joined your possessions, with the contracts; you have joined your spirits with the _adal_. As of this day, you are one. Agreeing to wed and taking the bead is the end; how else would it be?" Ah, Bilbo thought. Another difference, that's all. He tried very hard not to feel a sense of being let down, thinking of the huge Shire weddings with their crowds and flowers and feasts. Focus, he reminded himself. You leave here married to Thorin, and that is the important part. He sectioned off a piece of Thorin's hair to braid and then stopped, confounded. Fari smiled again. "Allow me to walk you through the wedding braid, it's a bit complex. Section off four strands..." Within a few moments, Bilbo had placed a proper braid in Thorin's hair and closed the golden bead he had been given over it. He leaned over on impulse and kissed Thorin; it was only a chaste peck on the lips, the sort always found at the end of the hobbit wedding, but both Thorin and Fari flushed bright red.

"Among _my_ people," Bilbo stated in a slightly challenging tone, "all weddings end with a kiss." Fari nodded and made a valiant attempt to smile, though his cheeks were still a bit pink under his wispy beard. Clearly this had been unexpected and embarrassing, though the embrace earlier had not. Thorin had reverted to staring at the floor again, but his eyes flicked up to meet the hobbit's and the look in them almost knocked Bilbo over with the amount of love and devotion he saw.

Fari coughed a bit uncomfortably and then said "Yes, each people have their own customs, do they not? I must say, you reacted to the _adal_ precisely as a dwarf would as best I can tell. Amazing, really. I will tell Scribe Murrek that, though of course the specifics are yours alone." The smile was back that reminded Bilbo of Ori. "I will escort you back to your rooms, if you wish." Thorin gave a brusque nod to accompany Bilbo's muttered acceptance, and they made their way through the halls back to the noble quarters. Bilbo had the feeling that everyone passing by was watching them, though many of the dwarves seemed friendly enough, smiling and nodding. He still wasn't used to being the center of attention in quite such a way and found it to be a bit unnerving. When they finally arrived back at the entrance to their suite of rooms, Fari bowed to them a final time. "Again, joy in your marriage. May it continue as perfectly as it has begun."

"Fari..." Bilbo began, but stumbled on his own tongue. He had too many words to say and didn't trust himself to express all of it without making a scene, so he simply said "Thank you." The scribe bobbed his head in a half-bow, gave them both one more smiling glance with those eerie golden-amber eyes, and walked away. Dis was nowhere to be seen, but there was no indication of what sort of errand might have taken her elsewhere or when she might return. The rooms felt curiously empty, and Thorin seemed uncharacteristically quiet and withdrawn. Bilbo looked at him closely, and now with more attention he saw that Thorin looked... he didn't know what. "Thorin?" The dwarf didn't answer, though he gave Bilbo an awkward look. "Thorin, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, _mizimel_ ," his dwarf responded with a smile that never reached his eyes. His husband, the hobbit thought with a sudden rush of warmth. Looking at Thorin's clear discomfort, though, Bilbo's warm feeling faded quickly. He went over and took Thorin's hand, drawing him to the couch near the hearth. His heart sank, worrying that this was Thorin's reaction to something from the _adal_.

"None of that foolishness, now, _my husband_." He smiled over at Thorin, who gave a short laugh but lost none of his melancholy look. "Thorin, talk to me. What's wrong? Do you feel poorly?" Thorin shook his head, but Bilbo persisted. "Do you want something to eat? Perhaps a sip of water or something to drink?" Thorin's hand crept over and took Bilbo's, and a thought occurred to the hobbit. "Or maybe just feeling a bit overwhelmed?" Thorin gave a short chuckle at this.

"Overwhelmed... would be an understatement, my heart," Thorin finally said. The dwarf stood and went to poke up the fire. Bilbo let him do so, recognizing that he needed to be doing something to distract himself. "Overwhelmed doesn't even begin to encompass my mind right now. To be honest, I'm not sure how I feel; my thoughts are whirling like a millrace. I never thought this day would come," he finally said in a soft, quiet voice. "I had no idea I would ever marry, even after... after I recognized my feelings for what they were. For you," he said (completely unnecessarily, Bilbo couldn't help but think). His next sentence left the hobbit shaken. "I don't know what you saw in the _adal_ , but... I am so ashamed I hurt you so badly. I'm..." Bilbo refused to hear any more.

"Stop it," he said sharply. "What I saw was enough to leave me amazed that you lived to meet me at all, Thorin. I saw..." he thought about the scene of Thorin's self-destructive misery in that filthy human room and his throat closed up on the words. Not now, he thought. It probably should be faced, but not now. "I saw many things, but mostly that we missed a chance when we were traveling together to speak, and that we have both suffered for it. But I also remember specifically forgiving you for everything; I even saw it last night, so I would presume that you remember that?" Thorin glanced sheepishly over at him but nodded once, almost embarrassed.

"I remember," Thorin half-whispered. "Some days I remember nothing else." Silver-streaked black hair flipped down to half-mask his face, something Bilbo knew meant nothing positive was going on in his dwarf's mind. Drat, he thought.

"Good. I meant it then, and I still do, but I'll go even further. In the Shire," Bilbo said, forcing a smile onto his face and forcing himself not to get distracted by the line of his husband's profile under its dark curtain, "weddings are quite different, and feature promises from each person to the other for how they intend to behave to the other. You are my husband already," and he blushed at Thorin's warm look from beneath his curtain of hair, "but still, I will tell you this, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror: nothing you did to me on that trip could compete with the love you have showed me since you appeared at my door. However many opportunities we missed to speak, the one we took was the right one, and here we are. And for my part, I swear I will do my best never to let you suffer such hardships again as you did before you came to my smial. I cannot promise you that we will not struggle, or suffer, or that things will always be smooth, but I can promise you that I will always be there to help you with whatever needs doing. Never doubt my love for you, my... dear one." Thorin sat down next to Bilbo again and took one of the hobbit's hands in his own, kissing Bilbo's knuckles while raising one eyebrow.

"I have never doubted you, my heart, at least not since I found out you felt the same. Even so... I was expecting a 'ridiculous dwarf'," he said, grinning over at his husband. Bilbo recognized Thorin's attempt to bring some normalcy to the conversation, but wished he had gone in a different direction with it.

Bilbo flushed. "I, uh, saw something in the _adal_ that made me realize that probably wasn't a nice or welcome thing to say," he said. "I'm sorry if..." With a rustle, Thorin leaned over Bilbo and shock at the sudden, unexpected kiss stopped him from speaking. Bilbo's world vanished into soft lips for a moment and when they separated, shining blue eyes stared into the hobbit's hazel ones from mere inches away. The scent of Thorin's hair mingled with a hint of woodsmoke from the fireplace to make what Bilbo thought was the most intoxicating smell ever.

"From anyone else," Thorin rumbled deep in his chest, "I would have been displeased. From you? Even an obscenity would have been welcome if said with affection." Gentle lips brushed his again quickly and withdrew, leaving Bilbo feeling flushed and warm. "And I could always hear the affection. Call me what you wish, so long as the feeling does not change."

"It will never change," Bilbo said dreamily, still lost in the sensation. "That's another promise I can safely make." He struggled upright and looked over at Thorin, cupping his bearded cheek with one hand. "But on the subject of apologies... I would ask your forgiveness as well. I realized in the _adal_ that even in Erebor you were trying to tell me how you felt and I... didn't do a good job of hearing you," he said uncomfortably. "You always like to take the blame for things, but I made a right mess of..." Thorin was already shaking his head.

"There is nothing to forgive. I mean it," he said in response to the hobbit's exasperated glance, "I wake up feeling so lucky to have you that my blood sings in my veins. Now," he reached over and his thumb slid along the braid and bead that were just added to Bilbo's hair with astonishing gentleness, "I can't believe that we are finally joined. I am happier in this moment than I ever have been." With a self-deprecating chuckle, he said "You likely know that better than any by now."

"Oh Thorin," Bilbo sighed, stroking his husband's sleek hair (and finally with proper permission to do so, he thought in amusement). Thorin groaned and promptly sprawled out on the couch with his head in the hobbit's lap, hanging his booted feet off the side in a way that the hobbit thought was both utterly undignified and ridiculously endearing. He wished suddenly, passionately, that he could go back to that carefree hobbit in Beorn's garden and tell him: 'Listen, you foolish hobbit! This prickly, overly formal, seemingly harsh king you think you know is nevertheless capable of laying on a couch with his head in your lap, speaking of love, paying no mind to dignity. Go to him right now, Bilbo-Baggins-that-was!' He smiled down at his husband, setting such thoughts aside. Better to be with him now than regret might-have-beens. He stroked the long, white-touched mane that splayed out across his legs, gently brushing the braids and especially the new one with his fingers. "I love your hair," he whispered. "But you know this already." Thorin's eyes fluttered shut and he moaned almost inaudibly as Bilbo rubbed his scalp softly with his fingertips.

Thorin smiled, though he was a bit flushed. "I remember telling you that first night that it was terribly improper for you to touch it without being my husband." Azure eyes opened and rolled to look up into Bilbo's face and the hobbit was trapped in that gaze for a moment. "Words cannot express my joy that it is finally permitted and proper, as we are _mashahnen_." He chuckled. "Though it is still scandalous to do in front of others, so please don't horrify Dis. You've seen how offended she acts, though in truth she and Vili were disgraceful when first wed and could have cared less who saw what." The hobbit giggled but that comment turned Bilbo's mind into interesting channels indeed, despite it being (as best he could tell) the middle of the afternoon. He attempted to distract himself with food. Distraction or not, the hobbit thought, it would be an absolute joy to eat something that wasn't unseasoned potatoes and boiled meats.

"Colmu will be glad you can eat her food again," Bilbo said, grinning down at him. "She's missed..." he broke off. Thorin had stiffened at his comment, discomfort returning to a body which moments before had been as relaxed as a cat. "What?" the hobbit asked softly. "What is it? Do you not... want to eat the food here? Is there...?"

"No, it's not that." Thorin said uncomfortably. "I can't eat others' food until... can we not talk about this right now?" Pleading eyes looked up at him.

"Of course," Bilbo said. What else could he say?, he thought. But how odd, what could be missing now that Thorin was married? Wasn't the... oh. Oh! The hobbit was abruptly certain he knew what was missing. He could feel his face warming and didn't know whether to giggle like a faunt or demonstrate just how little he would mind helping Thorin with that particular issue. His face must have shown more of his thoughts than he intended, as Thorin looked away and blushed, then closed his eyes again. "I'll, uh..." the hobbit hated how hoarse he sounded, "I'll be happy to cook for you tonight then." Leaning down next to his husband's ear, he whispered "But by tomorrow I predict you'll be able to eat anything in this mountain." The immediate deep crimson flush told him that his guess was correct, though the grumbling, embarrassed noise the dwarf made was so charming Bilbo almost dragged him away to a bedroom at that very moment. It was going to be a very long evening indeed until it was time for bed.


	24. Interlude - What Thorin Saw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By overwhelming popular demand... a break from the Bilbo-POV to a Thorin-POV to find out what our favorite dwarf saw in the _adal_. Love you guys.

Thorin walked down the ramp, following behind Fari. He had surrendered all his weapons at the entrance, even his pocket knife, and now he felt uncomfortably naked. He thought it a bit unsettling how much the dwarf in front of him looked like Ori, despite his Stiffbeard eyes. Even so, he thought sourly, I would be married by Fuln Goldeneye himself if it would get me free of the _ma'rikh_ and married to Bilbo. The _ma'rikh_ throbbed along his nerves, an excruciating burning want that never got any easier no matter how long it lasted. Thorin ignored it, as he always did. The hobbit had no idea of how painful this longing was, and he never would. That was for the best, he knew. Even so, he was within days of setting this boulder down and the thought buoyed him up. Fari turned to look at him in the antechamber.

"The time has come to enter the _adal_. This is a sacred place, a place of learning. You have come to learn the heart of the one you will join. It is not magic, but the power of Mahal himself which causes minds to share, souls to touch. This is not a thing to be entered lightly. If you are not ready, or if you do not wish to proceed, speak now. There is no dishonor in it." Thorin sighed; why must the Scribes always be so pompous? He dragged himself back to what was happening and motioned brusquely. Fari raised his eyebrows a bit in surprise but continued. "Have you been told of what is to come?" Thorin nodded. He had enough of an idea from things he had heard. He would dream of Bilbo, and Bilbo would dream of him. If they were well-matched, they would come forth and wed. The familiar conviction arose in his mind that when the hobbit saw Thorin's past, he would realize how flawed he was, how weak he was, how unworthy, and that Bilbo would turn away. He forced that thought down. What will come, will come, he thought with a sigh. He hasn't left me yet, despite my constant failing. With a start, he realized that Fari was staring at him, waiting for a response. 

"I have heard things, but tell me of the true path," he finally said formally. Fari smiled, seeming glad to hear the proper formulas.

"The first night is called the Night of Loss; you will see in your dreams the times when your betrothed has suffered great loss. The second night is the Night of Struggle, when your betrothed has fought hardest for something of value. The third night is the Night of Hope." Hope, Thorin thought bitterly. Something all dwarves should have, but which he had lost and regained more times than he would ever admit to anyone. "After the third night, I will return and you will be brought to the door. If it opens, your time in the _adal_ is complete. Do you understand?" The Khuzdul made it clear a response was required.

"I understand. I walk onto Mahal's anvil." Thorin hated how rough his voice sounded, but Fari was doubtless used to strong emotions in those he helped.

"May His hammer strike true." With the traditional blessing complete, Fari turned towards the door, giving Thorin a moment unwatched. The king closed his eyes, fighting for strength. He was unprepared for Fari's deviation from the ritual.

"How do you think he will do?" The Scribe's voice was quiet, but the question was louder in Thorin's mind than in the room itself. "No non-dwarf has ever..." Thorin didn't even wait for him to finish, Scribe or not.

"He will exceed your expectations." He didn't care how rough his voice sounded, or even how nonsensical it was for him to refer to the Scribe having expectations for such an unprecedented situation. "It would be foolish of you to doubt him. He is as strong as the roots of the mountains, as strong as any stone-born. I could not expect you to understand." Fari's soft chuckle irritated Thorin despite being gentle and clearly intended as inoffensive.

"I suppose I should have expected no less of an answer. I apologize, King Thorin." Thorin scoffed.

"King no longer," was his surly response. He hated being in such a bad mood, but the _ma'rikh_ was chewing at him, and to finally be at the _adal_... "I must apologize in turn," Thorin said, raising his eyes to Fari and seeing the lingering surprise in those golden orbs. "It's... I have no fears about him, beyond what he will see." Fari nodded, looking thoughtful.

"The king bears the mountain upon his shoulders," the Scribe said. The fragment of children's rhyme seemed out of place, but the meaning of it was true. The rest of the stanza, 'but who will bear the king?' was implicit, as Fari intended, and eerily appropriate. Thorin could do nothing but nod; Bilbo would see what he saw. "Well then... let us enter." They walked forward into the tiny chamber. One of the Hidden stood at the back and Thorin resisted the urge to shudder. He was always unnerved by the attendants. Looking away from the fabric-draped dwarf, Thorin noted the table, chair, the old-style stone bed, and sniffed approvingly. It smelled deep in here, like the safest parts of the mountain. The Scribes truly thought of everything. If he hadn't known better himself, he would think this chamber was in Khazad-Dum or one of the ancient cities, not new-dug less than a century ago. Fari spoke again, voice taking on the formal cadence that told Thorin this was part of the ritual. "You have come to the _adal_ , the chamber of understanding. Your task here is both simple and overwhelming; here you will learn the soul of your betrothed, and learn your own soul as well. Do not fear boredom." The word he used for boredom meant _idleness_ , and Thorin nodded. No dwarf could stand to sit idle for long. "If you are well-matched there will be much to consider, and this is the place to do so, unbothered by outside concerns. Still your mind, and know your heart." Fari bowed. "I will see you when you emerge, and may Mahal guide you in wisdom."

"Your light has guided me well." Thorin bowed low, probably lower than he should as king-that-was, but he did appreciate Fari's efforts; he was certain Murrek was monitoring this process closely and likely making Fari's life miserable in the process. Best to follow the forms, no need to offend the Scribe who was to wed them. His last sight was of Fari smiling. No sooner had he departed, than Thorin heard the swishing fabric as the Hidden placed a tray on the table.

"Eat, then sleep. It is time." Do they train them to talk like that, he wondered idly as he picked at the food. They must. No dwarf sounds like that. He recognized Bilbo's touch with salt and a hint of flavor, better than anything the Scribes ever could fix, and smiled. At least he would have this little bit of his beloved with him. Before his back was flat on the bed, he was swept away before he could even gasp.

=

A tiny faunt no bigger than Freddy was sitting with an ancient-looking hobbit who smiled at him and patted him with gnarled hands. Thorin looked around; he didn't recognize this kitchen at all, so they weren't in Bag End. It was enormous, filled with cooking equipment and decorations, and everything shone with the patina of constant use and love. Ah, the dwarf thought, remembering Bilbo's stories from the first afternoon. Perhaps this is the dam that bore so many children that Bilbo described, his _sigin'amad_. He listened to the childish voice prattling on about flowers and stones and what he had found in the brook and Thorin smiled fondly. His beloved had been an adorable child. She coughed unexpectedly, then again, deeper and rattling. "Stay there grandmother, I'll be right back with some water." She held her chest, coughing intermittently but nodded as he left. The bright eyes and smile made Thorin fearful; as soon as tiny Bilbo had stepped away, the old lady coughed a final time, rackingly, and slumped over. Thorin knew already that she was dead. He had seen too many people die to doubt it, but the cries of the boy when he returned almost shattered him.

=

Thorin thought for a moment he was back at Erebor, or high in the mountains. Snow was swirling in all directions, and the wind was howling. Where am I, he wondered, looking around. Only when he looked down did he see a hobbit woman hunched in the road, fighting a... Forgetting he was in a memory, he leaped forward, trying to shout a battlecry but of course he couldn't move. He watched in horror as the woman died at the jaws of a gaunt wolf. Looking into the blowing snow, he could barely make out Bilbo running away. The dream flickered, scenes passing quickly in the manner of normal dreams... Bilbo begging help at a neighbor's house, the body coming to Bag End (looking a bit different than Thorin had seen it), Bilbo's father receiving the news and saying only "Oh" before going into his room, never to emerge alive. That was the last syllable Bilbo ever heard from his father's lips for two weeks until he died in his bed, not having eaten or drunk a morsel, not even taken off his clothes he was wearing the night he received the news. A younger, painfully thin Bilbo knelt on the floor in front of the fire and screamed "I'm sorry" until his voice gave out. Thorin thought he had never heard such a forlorn sound in his life.

=

A young Bilbo stood, facing another hobbit about his age. The other's black hair wasn't as curly as Bilbo's, but his eyes were shifty. He was well but carelessly dressed, expensive clothes thrown on skew-whiff. Thorin took an instinctive dislike to him without even knowing why. Thorin shook his head at how young his betrothed looked, though the look of pain and distress on his face made him seem older. "So, what... that's it, then? Like it was nothing? Really, Mungo? You can look me in the eye and tell me that none of it meant anything to you?" Bilbo asked. Thorin had never heard that high, harsh tone in his beloved's voice and hoped never to do so. He sounded half-mad.

The other hobbit sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "Bilbo..." he said in an exasperated voice. "I don't know why you are so upset. It wasn't like this was something serious, it was only a bit of fun. I'm marrying Holly, you'll get married yourself soon enough. You're acting like... Green Lady, I don't even know what." Thorin realized what was happening and the pain of it was like a knife in the heart. Oh, he thought dumbly. There was someone else before me? Jealousy and hatred both flared up, burning in his gut with a white-hot fire that made the _ma'rikh_ seem almost gentle. I will kill him, he thought savagely, glaring at the shifty-looking hobbit and forgetting for a moment where he was and that this was just a memory. The scene rippled, reminding him to focus, and he forced his attention back despite the nauseous feeling in his core. Looking at the strange hobbit's eyes, he realized with a shock that he was lying. This 'Mungo' knew all too well why Bilbo was upset; Bilbo's heartbreak was obvious. Coward, Thorin thought viciously. Coward and fool.

"I... of course," Bilbo said. It was clear he was trying to sound calm, but in truth he sounded like he was dying. He gave a laugh like a death rattle. "Sorry, I took a funny turn. Of course, just a bit of fun." Thorin stared at the other hobbit, memorizing his face. I will not forget you, he thought. For this pain you have caused, I will find you. Even if you did come before me. His own pain was a twin to Bilbo's as the scene faded.

=

He awoke and lay on the stone slab, mouth tasting of bile, scowling furiously into the darkness as his hands clenched in the blanket. He knew, intellectually, that hobbits were different. He had seen it himself; things that were life or death to dwarves, they treated lightly, and occasionally the other way 'round. They didn't have heart-mates in the same way as a dwarf would, so there was no particular reason that Bilbo wouldn't have had earlier loves. Thinking back on it, the hobbit had never said that he hadn't; in fact, some of the things that he had said could have, should have, made it clear that he had. Thorin had even heard of a few rare dwarves that... carried on... that way (his mind refused any other term), especially when they were craft-wed. It had just never been a thing he had considered for himself. Being king, of course, was challenge enough; a few had put themselves forward as suitors, but they only wanted a crown and bragging rights, though there was precious little wealth for most of his so-called reign. Since retaking Erebor, several suitors had come, some from as far away as Khand, but of course his heart was already full of bright hazel eyes and dark blond curls. He knew he was being foolish, but that didn't stop jealousy from chewing on his guts like a dragon.

The door in the back opened and one of the Hidden suddenly appeared, summoned Mahal-knew-how by him waking up. "You must sleep," came the toneless voice. It went back into whatever was behind these rooms, closing the door. Shuddering, Thorin wondered if the attendants were even dwarves at all. With that disturbing thought, his eyes closed against his will and he was swept away.

=

The battlements of Erebor stretched about him. He saw himself, the mad, mindless fury in his face, holding the hobbit over the rocks below, cursing... no. _NO_.

=

He was hardly awake before he was vomiting, leaning over the edge of the bed. He felt like each nerve in his body was both frozen and on fire. The door in the back of the room opened again but he shouted "Get out!" before the robed figure could even enter. A storm of weeping seized him. He felt cold, cold like he would never be warm again, and he cried for all the sorrows he had inflicted on one that he loved so dearly. Only when his tears had stopped did the spell of the bed take him again.

=

When the throne room of Erebor formed around him, Thorin wondered if this night was designed to drive him mad. No, he wanted to shout, I will not see this either. I know this already, don't make me watch this moment again. It was of no use, of course. He watched the whole sorry show, saw for himself how cold he had looked, and this time he saw clearly the pain and heartbreak in that soft face as Bilbo finally turned and walked away. What could I have said, he wanted to shout to the broken hobbit as he moved slowly away from the grey-faced Thorin on the throne. I gave you gold, I gave you mithril, I gave you my entire soul... why would you leave? Do you not see me loving you? As the scene faded he cursed the wizard for stealing his hobbit away and cursed himself as a fool. He knew that he would have been crying again if he had a body to cry with as darkness fell.

=

The third time Thorin awoke he knew it was dawn. The mountain sang to his stonesense with the sunlight on its slopes, but he hardly felt like singing. He wiped the wetness from his cheeks, rose, and moved slowly to the table to think, ignoring the Hidden who set his food in front of him. The floor was as clean as if the episode in the middle of the night had never happened; he shuddered to think of that robed figure passing through the room while he lay helpless. He looked at the tray on the table but never since the _ma'rikh_ had first stolen his ability to take food had he felt less like eating. In truth even the knowledge that it was Bilbo's food wasn't enough. He still felt jealous but he also felt vaguely ill. Furious that Bilbo had not told him that he had had previous loves, he still knew instinctively at the same time that he would have been unable to hear that without reacting poorly, and rage, bitterness and shame were whirling in his mind like bladed wheels. He felt the usual reflexive self-loathing arise; the ghost of his grandfather shouted in his mind telling him how unworthy he was, how broken, how undeserving. And yet, he retorted to the voice in his head. And yet. Bilbo had missed him. Waited for him. Seemingly pined for him. He knew Bilbo was more than he ever deserved, even if the hobbit had had a dozen lovers before. After hours of wrestling he refined his thoughts to one question: was jealousy over someone who broke Bilbo's heart long ago anything to set against a love that stayed true for years even while thinking him gone? His head said no; even his heart said no. It was only his greed, the part of him that yielded to gold madness, the part most like Thror, that said yes. Thorin nodded to himself grimly and finally began to eat, forcing the food down. He would not listen to his grandfather's voice further on this subject. Its ideas had already driven him past the brink of madness once; the danger of its suggestions was clear.

The rest of the day was spent thinking of Bilbo and meditating on what he had seen, calming his mind and forcing it to focus. He was so used to the _ma'rikh_ by now he could shut it out. Digging into old memories from his childhood religious training, he took each of the scenes from the night before and examined them against the Triangle of Mahal as he had been taught. Who or what was the Hammer here, the Anvil, the Iron? Slowly, he teased out the lessons he thought were embedded in these views into his betrothed's heart. By the time he sensed the sun setting, he felt he had understood the purpose of the previous night's visions to some extent. When the Hidden appeared with his food, he ate mechanically and went to the bed. Before touching it, he offered up a short prayer. Mahal, he thought, I have not been particularly devout, though I have always tried to be a good king. You know my hands have never been idle. Help me to learn what I must know here, that my marriage may be well-made, that I may not be a disappointment to Bilbo, that... even in the privacy of his own mind in this solitary room, he couldn't complete the sentence. He stretched himself slowly on the slab and fell immediately into sleep.

=

Bilbo stood next to his father, glaring at him. Bungo was seated at a desk, papers piled about him, looking at his son with concern tinged with exasperation. "Bilbo, I've told you," the older hobbit said, "you don't need to worry about..."

"I will help you," Bilbo said in a fierce voice that made Thorin's gut clench with recognition. He knew that tone, and he thought Bilbo's father a brave hobbit indeed to try to stand against it. Bilbo wasn't done, though. "There is a great deal of work to be done. You taught me quite enough arithmetic to be getting on with, and you always said that one day I would take over these business dealings. If you think I'm waiting until you are no longer here to begin, you're quite mistaken," he huffed. Bungo seemed to smile against his will.

"Good heavens, if you knew how much like your mother you look right now. To think the day would come that I'd be stuck in a house with not one but two Tooks!" Bungo laughed, but Bilbo's eyes were still dangerously narrow.

"Stuck or not, let's look at these figures. Show me the properties and their rents and projections, and we will work out what needs to be done." Bungo's mouth drew down mulishly, and Bilbo made the same expression right back at him. "You shan't distract me, so we may as well begin. Sooner started, sooner finished, isn't that right, Papa?" A sigh was the only response, but Bilbo took the sheets of paper he was handed with a triumphant grin.

=

"Bilbo," said a voice that sounded familiar to Thorin, "you don't have to do this. Nobody would expect you to..." Bilbo whirled around and for a moment, Thorin thought he was staring directly at him. As he turned, he recognized the old hobbit he had met at the Shire Fair. He had less white in his hair, but he was still sharply dressed. His eyes were on Bilbo and full of sympathy.

"I said I would have a party for him, Tom, and I will," Bilbo said firmly. His voice sounded fairly normal, Thorin thought, but he recognized the look of recent tears. He looked dreadful, pale and drawn, almost as though he were ill. "I've been cooking all day, and I will cook all day tomorrow as well, and I will have that party for him and Holly, and then I will never have to think about this again." Holly, he thought. Wasn't that the name of the woman that...

"Mungo deserves to be set on fire, not thrown an engagement party," the old hobbit said darkly. Thorin's fury was exceeded only by his shock. The other hobbit had broken his heart and Bilbo threw him a _party_? "I have never regretted introducing two people more in my long and misspent life." At Bilbo's scoff, Tom cut his eyes to where the younger hobbit had slumped into a chair. "I still say you should let Hugo poison him. He knows all of those strange mushrooms that grow in the swamps, he could..." Bilbo laughed loudly and a bit wildly, though Thorin thought it sounded quite a reasonable suggestion. He was half-disgusted to see Tom smile and realize he hadn't meant it.

"I will do it," Bilbo finally said, in a quiet but determined voice. "I promised I would before we ever... I promised. And I will. My mother would be ashamed for me to back out of a promise I made... and I would be ashamed of myself." He was pale and somewhat green around the lips as though he was about to vomit, but his jaw was set.

"You were always too good for him, Bilbo," came Tom's crisp voice. "And you're a better hobbit than I am, that's for certain. You deserve a far better mate than he ever dreamed of being. One day you will find the man who will appreciate you, and this will be only a bitter memory." The older hobbit stepped forward briskly and gave Bilbo a hug. The younger hobbit gave a sigh that was half-sob.

"That's bollocks and you know it. I just have to do this." And as Thorin marveled at the sheer novelty of hearing Bilbo curse, darkness fell.

=

Thorin was still reeling from the idea of throwing a party for someone who had just trod your heart underfoot when the scene resolved around him and gave him a chill. He knew this mountain pass, and watched as past-him berated the hobbit that he already knew he was dangerously attached to. This time, though, he had no anger to cover his true emotions, and he couldn't hide at the front of the line, pretending he didn't know how unreasonable he had been. He saw the misery in the gentle face of his beloved, the pity in the eyes of the others as they made their way along the narrow stone track. I was terrible, Thorin thought. Worse, he remembered other times almost as bad, though he chose not to think of them. How could he still stand to even see me, he wondered, let alone love me? As they passed further along the barely-there trail into the cave, he watched the hobbit's fight with himself by tracking his facial expressions. Bilbo would have been better off to have left, Thorin realized bitterly. Seeing how he looked, listening to his own words, he reminded himself of Thror again... the callousness, the cruelty, the unnecessary abuse were typical of his grandfather in his childhood. Is that what I have become?, he wondered miserably. Bilbo is too good for me by far. I'm not worth loving.

=

When the next dream appeared, Thorin felt like a spike of ice passed through his soul. This was the Battle of Erebor, and Bilbo was there fighting like a demon. He knew in his mind that the hobbit was invisible even though in the dream he could see him clearly, but he couldn't stop the fear he felt seeing that small form darting between the armored orcs and weaving around the legs of war-trolls. Bilbo was crying silently, constantly staring around and looking for something or someone. In the distance, Thorin saw himself bracing against a strike from Azog's flail and Bilbo froze, then began fighting his way grimly forward, leaving a trail of wounds and bodies behind himself. Oh, he thought dumbly. He was trying to find me. After everything I had done to him, he came into this horrible melee just to help me.

=

Bilbo was standing in his study. It looked tidy but a bit dustier than Thorin had ever seen it. Bilbo was standing in front of his desk, holding a picture frame that the dwarf recognized as the one that had held his picture. Bilbo held it up to the portraits on the wall. "Mama, Papa," he said softly, "I want you to meet Thorin." He stopped to sniffle. "I don't... I know you will never get to meet him _really_ , but even so... I love him. I can't help it. And I want you to know that if I ever settled down with anyone, it would have been him. You might have gotten that wedding you wanted after all, Mama. Nothing would be too much for how I feel for him. Even though..." he trailed off slowly. Bilbo looked down at the picture in his hands. "And as for you, Thorin Oakenshield, I know you're back in Erebor being a king, all grave and wise and strong, but your picture will be here with me." He set it on the desk, right where Thorin had seen it, and he kissed his fingers and pressed them to the desk in front of the picture. "Good night, Thorin."

The hobbit walked out and stopped in the door, looking back at the picture. Thorin could barely hear the words "Green Lady, I miss you so much." Darkness rose around the scene.

=

He woke with a muffled shout. One of the Hidden appeared but Thorin delivered a curt "Leave me" before it could even speak. It hesitated before bowing, but then it retreated from the room. He could tell it was almost dawn, and he sat, shivering, until the cloaked figure delivered his morning meal. He choked his food down, though it threatened to reappear with the knots in his stomach. Not for the first time, Thorin worried that they weren't really compatible, that this was all a giant joke, Mahal's little jest, and he would come outside and Bilbo would have fled already. Or perhaps he hadn't seen anything, hadn't dreamed, and Fari had fetched him out of the room... but that didn't make sense, these visions were coming from somewhere, surely he had to be there. Bilbo was in his own room seeing scenes from... Thorin's already low spirits sunk lower still. There were a few benefits he had realized from having such a miserable life. One was that he was difficult to disappoint; another was that he hadn't inflicted those memories on anyone else. Now even that wasn't true, with his terrible memories shown to Bilbo, some of them anyway. Bilbo might flee, he realized. Maybe the hobbit would see those things and finally realize how broken he was, how useless, how used up. Thorin felt like he was nothing but a hollow shell; he had failed his father, failed his brother, failed his people over and over again. He knew it was only a matter of time before he failed Bilbo as well. 

Thorin sat against the wall of the room in a hunched bundle as the day trickled slowly past, ignoring the coming and going of the Hidden as it did whatever it did. He clung to the memory of Bilbo's forgiveness as a touchstone; that one shining moment was the only light in that long, dark day, Bilbo looking at him and saying he forgave him, listing his crimes and then taking the knife away, setting it aside, touching his hair... he didn't understand how that was even possible, but he clung to it like a child with its favorite toy in the shadows of a room grown terrible with darkness. I'm sorry, he wanted to say. I'm not as strong as I should have been, I wasn't as kind as I should have been, I'm not as good as I ought to be... I'm sorry, Bilbo. I'm so sorry. Then he would take out that memory and cling to it again, clinging to the love in the hobbit's voice.

"Eat, then sleep. It is time," came the cold voice of the Hidden, robes hissing around it. He almost cursed it but thought there would be no use. Sighing, he ignored the food and just threw himself on the slab. Best to end this and see what happened tomorrow. He barely had time to wonder if the door would open and what he would find if it did when darkness swirled around him.

=

Thorin was immediately overwhelmed. This wasn't a memory, this was a flood, a deluge of memories all jumbled together. Bilbo with his parents, one or both of them, smiling, laughing, happy. Every scene was full to bursting of a joy that Thorin thought was the most alien thing to him yet. He knew that he should be delighted; Bilbo's childhood had been full of love and care and joy, all the things that produced the hobbit that spoke to his heart... and he _was_ delighted. He was; Bilbo deserved this. Laughing faunt-Bilbo ran past, chased by others, reminding him of Freddy at play during the Fair. He watched in fascination as Bilbo learned to cook with his grandmother, explored the wooded copses of the Shire fearlessly with others, and everywhere was love and care and compassion, happiness and laughter. His own soul hurt to watch it.

=

Thorin recognized Tom as soon as the scene resolved itself. He was sitting with the other hobbit, whatever his name was, and Bilbo was seated at the table with them, eating. The group wasn't at Bag End, so presumably this was Tom's smial with... Hugo, he remembered, staring at the bushy muttonchops. Food filled the table, and plates were filled and passed with smiles. They all looked happy, but Bilbo was radiant. He braced himself for discussion of the previous suitor, but nothing was said. Nobody spoke, and there was no sound other than the clinking of utensils against the plate. There was a stillness, a peace in this moment that shone like a star.

=

The first thing Thorin saw was a campfire, then the rest of the scene faded in... the party sitting sprawled around a camp that he vaguely remembered, somewhere in the Trollshaws. He wouldn't have except for the strange rock formations they were sitting against; he remembered those because they looked carved but weren't. Bilbo was sitting and listening to Balin tell some tale about Azanulbizar and he, Fili and Kili were huddled with the old counselor near a fire. Thorin saw himself standing looking down into a valley, a valley he barely remembered. Racking his memory, he vaguely recalled that he had heard wargs howling, but he turned with the moonlight on him and Bilbo's face transformed. Oh, Thorin thought, watching himself and the hobbit as though seeing them for the first time. This is the moment, then. Here is where the stone split to reveal the glowing gem inside. He wished he could lean into the side of the him-who-was and say 'Hearken to me, blind dwarf... look at what sits there, unremarked, a treasure among the stones. Seize it, this is more important than even the halls of your fathers.' He knew he wouldn't have listened, but already by this point in the journey he remembered that he had begun to feel the sense that there was more to the hobbit than just a chance-met companion. The fight against that creeping suspicion had led to the words shouted in that mountain pass, and beyond. Poor fool, he thought, looking at himself, you have such smelting and forging still to go. So many blows of Mahal's hammer lie ahead... thinking of his own situation, he laughed. May you not snap at the last, he wished himself. Darkness whirled him away.

=

Bilbo sat by a sickbed; Thorin could barely recognize himself under all the bandages. He looked more like a rag-pile than a living dwarf. Oin was puttering around in the tent, but it was obvious that the dwarf on the bed was unconscious... looking again at all his bandages, Thorin thought it was frankly amazing that he was still alive at all. He didn't remember his wounds being that bad, but clearly Bilbo did. Oin went to the door of the tent and glanced back at Bilbo. The look on the physician's face was as clear as a shout to a dwarf, but the hobbit never noticed. His attention never stirred from the bandaged lump on the tiny cot in front of him.

Once Oin had left, Bilbo leaned down. Thorin strained to hear what was being said. "Thorin, I don't know if you can hear me... I'm so sorry, Thorin. I tried, I tried so hard to..." he broke off sniffling, and Thorin cursed that he could neither cry nor scream in this disembodied state; his emotions were making the whole dream ripple. "If you can hear me, come back, Thorin. I... I love you. Please come back." Why, the dwarf thought bitterly, why is this in the night of Joy? There is no more joy in this than... At that moment, the dwarf on the bed gave a great gasp of air. Bilbo shouted and Oin came running. I remember none of this, Thorin thought numbly. He brought me back? Glancing at the hobbit, he almost flinched from the glowing, overwhelming joy streaming from him. In the dream, he seemed to glow like an elf or spirit, like the Arkenstone itself. I came back for love of him, he realized. Wanting to laugh and curse Mahal at the same time, even Thorin felt the warmth of this revelation. 

=

When he woke, he rose from the stone bed with a grim sense of purpose. Whatever else had gone on during this time, he had learned one thing; his whole life had led to this moment. No matter how unready, how unworthy, how broken he felt inside, if his hobbit would still have him (he forced away that train of thought lest it ruin him completely) the knowledge that he was destined to be with Bilbo Baggins burned in him like a forge. He knew what he had seen in that last vision; he had returned from the precipice of death because of Bilbo's love. He had never run from any battle in his life; his flaws were many, he thought sourly, and he could tell them like his grandfather could tell coins, but cowardice was never among them, not even hidden in guise of another.

"Approach the door, and go forth if it will open," came the toneless voice of a Hidden from behind him. He took a deep breath, and set his hand to the handle.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, finally, we justify the rating :D

Once Dis appeared with a train of dwarven nobles pouring in after her, Bilbo's brief interlude alone with Thorin was over. She walked in and stopped, stunned, at the sight of them sitting in the couch (though luckily for the sake of propriety, Thorin had sat up and was no longer splayed out on a couch with his head in Bilbo's lap). There wasn't much to be said, though, as Vurn and Khim were in the middle of some bitter argument that looked like it might come to blows. The hobbit was stunned when the nobles all said some variation of "Joy in your marriage" before dragging Thorin into their incomprehensible discussions. So much for keeping it secret, Bilbo thought sourly. When Minelord Breki came over and smiled broadly before wishing him the same sentiment and told him how much his son had appreciated the tartlet, Bilbo wasn't sure what to think though he stammered some vaguely-appropriate rubbish in response. Finally he excused himself and went into the kitchen to prepare dinner. Colmu was roasting quail, basting them with some sort of gravy she had made out of the juices from the meat, and looked up in seeming surprise as he came in. Her eyes darted to the side of his head and she grinned broadly, showing every remaining tooth.

"Joy in your marriage, Master Baggins, I never thought to see Queen Dar's bead in use again. Does my old heart good," she said, then stopped at his expression. "Is aught amiss?"

"I... thank you," he said faintly. "I thought... I had been given to understand that it was to be a secret, or at least not much discussed, but..." he waved a hand weakly. Her hooting laugh filled the kitchen.

"Secret? There's no secrets beneath a mountain, Master Baggins, fancy you not knowing that by now!" Colmu cackled. "Some likely don't know, most don't care, but hardly a secret. Just not anyone else's business, is it? If someone was offended, you'd know by them offering to fight you soon enough. Secret!" Her continued laughter did nothing to ease his irritation but he finally sighed and started preparing dinner. There were no quail left, so he set a chunk of venison to roast wrapped in bacon and began preparing Thorin's favorite turnip cakes for him. She caught him fixing them and grinned again. "Something special for the night, eh?"

Bilbo flushed, though he hated to react so visibly. "You told me yourself that Thorin loves them," Bilbo said primly. "That's enough of a reason he should have them." Her approving clap on the shoulder nearly knocked him into the burner.

"He chose well," Colmu said approvingly. "If anyone needs special tending, it's my Thorindu. I expect you know that now." And with that, she went back to her cooking, leaving Bilbo standing with his mouth open. Dwarves had a special gift for being infuriating, he decided. They act all secretive and closemouthed when really, they all gossip like... like... like hobbits, he thought savagely. And they knock folk about for fun. And they tell you things are improper to do and then turn around and twit you with them like it's casual conversation. And... and... at this point Bilbo realized that he was banging the tools he was using to prepare food about quite forcefully. Colmu was giving him concerned looks from where she was working on assembling some sort of layered potato, cream and cheese confection, and the helpers had their heads down. he blew out his breath in frustration, but forced himself to be calm. I'm not at home, he reminded himself. This isn't my kitchen. A sudden pang of homesickness almost brought him to his knees at the thought of his kitchen. His kitchen, with his knives and his baking sheet and even his oven with its half-heating hob and his kettle... Green Lady of Trees, the kettle, he thought. I'd fight a goblin right now for a proper cup of tea. His emotions felt raw and too close to the surface somehow; the hobbit realized that this was probably the same thing Thorin had felt earlier but been unable to express, whether from the _adal_ or the marriage or even three nights spent on a stone slab eating the blandest food imaginable.

"Joy in your marriage," came a quiet whisper. Bilbo glanced over, shocked, into the eye... well, the ear, really, given the head down posture... of one of the kitchen help, busily slicing a spiced sausage into paper-thin rounds. It was the only time he had heard the dwarf speak (with the exception of the morning of the goblin's aborted raid).

"Thank you," he replied in a daze. A small smile was mostly hidden beneath the auburn beard as the dwarf finished slicing the meat and taking the cutting board to where preparation was underway for some new dish. Everyone does know, he realized. With a rush of gratitude, he realized that Colmu was right; even if they knew, they didn't seem to care. He had been worried at some level that there would be an outcry. Scribe Murrek hadn't made his fear any less; quite the contrary, with all her shouting about how impossible it was to countenance and how it went against 'the lore', whatever that meant. Clearly the dwarves of the general community didn't have any such concerns. That begged the question, though, of whether they knew that Thorin had stepped down as king of Erebor. Everyone still called him King Thorin, and he was still clearly treated as royalty... He would have to ask Thorin, he realized. First, though, he needed to finish the meal he was preparing. Sighing, he got to work.

Dinner was spectacular, Bilbo had to admit. His venison had turned out perfectly, moist and rich from being soaked through with bacon fat, the turnip cakes had ended up the exact golden brown he had imagined (and after tasting one he understood Thorin's love of them), the trifle he had fixed was excellent, and he was married. That knowledge kept falling into his head at odd times, making him smile softly as he did things. The urge to touch Thorin was almost overwhelming, and the hobbit wished several times that they were back in his smial where casual contact wasn't seen as some sort of scandalous breach of manners. By the time Dis finally answered the final 'final question' from the revolving crowd of nobles, settled the last argument of the evening, resolved (or postponed) a lingering dispute about mineral rights for intersecting ore veins with Thorin's help and ushered the final courtiers out of the royal chambers, it was late. Despite the hour, though, she spun around once the door was closed to beam at Thorin and Bilbo.

"Joy in your marriage, brother," she said with a broad grin at Thorin. "I beg your pardon, _brothers_ ," she snickered, emphasizing the plural and making Thorin smile. "I thought I would have to drop the lot of them into a mineshaft just to get a chance to talk to the two of you. I didn't know whether to expect you back today or not; you know how the Scribes get." With this seeming non sequitur (which of course appeared to make perfect sense to Thorin), she ran over and embraced Thorin, then Bilbo. "Did everything... work?" She asked gingerly. Thorin scoffed loudly.

"Of course it did. Exactly as I knew it would," he asserted. Bilbo knew better; he knew Thorin well enough by now to know when he was confident and when he was blustering his way through. The hobbit felt a reflexive wave of hurt, though he reasoned it away. Of course nobody had known how a hobbit would handle dwarven mysteries, he told himself firmly. How would they?

"Yes, well." Bilbo said. "Yavanna is married to Aule, of course their children are compatible." Judging from the stunned looks on the faces of both dwarves, clearly this was a new thought. He wasn't sure why he said it, and half wished he hadn't given the way they were gaping at him.

"Mahal's glowing anvil, you should have said that to Murrek," Dis said admiringly. "That would have grabbed her by the beard." She nodded slowly. "Well, I am delighted that you are back, and so thrilled that all went well. I should have some sort of celebration..." and she began outlining plans for yet another feast, ignoring Thorin's looks of discomfort and Bilbo's sighs. Finally the hobbit interrupted by yawning loudly.

"Oh, your pardon," he said quite unconvincingly, "it's only that there wasn't a lot of actual sleep to be had the past few nights, as I'm sure you remember. I think perhaps it's time to retire." Dis stopped, seeming nonplussed, before flushing a bright crimson and stopping midstream with all plans. With only a few words, she bid them goodnight and fled. Bilbo expected Thorin to be amused, but he looked even more uncomfortable than he had. "Thorin? What's wrong, love?"

"Nothing. Why do you ask?" Thorin said in a perfectly normal tone of voice... far too normal for his body language, which was tense and unhappy.

"I ask because it's clearly not nothing," Bilbo said in quiet exasperation. "Look at you, you're all tied in knots over something. Tell me, so I can help," he said, stepping close to his husband.

"Nonsense," Thorin said, stepping back. "I'm fine, it's just been a long day. I think... I want to bathe. The _adal_ was long and I'm sure I'd feel better to be clean." Bilbo nodded, feeling again a spike of hurt. Seeing Thorin pull away from him was difficult, especially... he put those thoughts away. Problems happened when they happened.

"That's a good idea. Perhaps I will as well." He took a deep breath. "Shall I plan to sleep in your chamber tonight?" He waited for a moment, trying not to see the wince cross his dwarf's face. "Or should I stay in the guest bedroom again?"

"No... I mean... it's..." Thorin seemed at a loss for words, each stammer like a nail in Bilbo's heart. "Of course you should come to my chambers. I'll... I'll see you there." And with that, Thorin Oakenshield, noted general, victor of several major battles and untold numbers of skirmishes, turned and ran like a frightened tween. Bilbo stared after him, utterly gobsmacked. I will not cry, he thought dumbly. I absolutely refuse to stand here in the hall and bawl like a child. He turned and slowly made his way into his room. Stripping off the clothes he had been wearing, he made his way into the bathing chamber and filled the tub. The running water in dwarven cities was the one thing he wished he could take home with him; from the explanations, the hot was brought to temperatures by the forges... he didn't understand it, and it didn't matter. He looked at himself in the polished wall and in spite of his earlier pledge he felt his sinuses prickling with unshed tears. Eyeing his body critically, he realized that he was likely not attractive by dwarven standards (whatever those were). He was shorter than a dwarf, and didn't have any of the pelt of hair on his chest and belly they seemed to wear (the men, anyway, who knew what the women had going on under all those clothes). They were all much burlier and more muscular than hobbits, and might not like the roundness of his belly, or the plumpness of his arms. The more he thought about it, the worse he felt. If Thorin didn't want to be... intimate, he finally settled on... he supposed that would have to be acceptable, he just wished that he had known beforehand. He was quite looking forward to... at this point, Bilbo realized he was properly crying. This wasn't the wedding night he had ever imagined, even in his worst nightmares. He washed mechanically, stripping off the dust and stickiness of three days in the _adal_.

Passing back into his bedroom proper, he almost lost his nerve and crawled inside the ridiculously large bed to hide. Bilbo Baggins, he told himself fiercely, you are a grown hobbit! Act like it. With that, he put on his sleeping clothes and slipped down the hall to Thorin's chamber. He knocked softly and passed inside at the gruff acknowledgement. Thorin stood staring at the floor, wearing only a baggy shirt and loose fitting pants. For the first time, the hobbit could see his husband's naked feet. They were tiny by hobbit standards, and so soft and pink that Bilbo wanted to examine them before the situation reasserted itself with a painful pang. As for the rest of the dwarf, Bilbo thought he looked as handsome as ever, although his discomfort seemed if anything to have worsened. "Thorin," the hobbit said, but stopped for a moment fighting to control his voice. "I'm sorry if you don't want me here. I didn't mean to... to..." Thorin glanced over incredulously, eyes softening. The bed loomed large in the center of the far wall, and Bilbo noted in passing that Thorin had a fireplace in here, something his own room had lacked. He jumped as Thorin's hand landed gently on his shoulder.

"Why would you think that? Of course I want you here," the dwarf said. "I just..." he trailed off, biting his lower lip.

"You just what?" Bilbo asked, hating his waspish tone but not being able to change it. "You certainly seem as though it's not comfortable to have me here. I had thought... well, nevermind what I had thought. If you're sure you want me here... Let's just go to sleep, I suppose." With that, the hobbit crawled into a very comfortable bed that might as well have been filled with rocks and stones, given how miserable Bilbo felt. Thorin sighed but Bilbo felt him get into the bed and the light dimmed as the crystal was covered. Unlike the pitch blackness that filled the hobbit's room when the crystal was covered, the light from the embers of the fire cast a dim glow into the room which would have been pleasant under other circumstances. "I'm sorry I'm not what you wanted," Bilbo said in a tiny voice. Thorin immediately rolled over and threw back the covers, staring into his eyes.

"You are all I ever wanted," the dwarf said in a cautious voice. "What is this?"

"Well," Bilbo exclaimed in a high, bitter voice, wishing he didn't sound so hurt but utterly unable to help it, "on a wedding night in the Shire, as in most places..." Even in the ruddy half-light of the fire, Bilbo could see the look of shame on Thorin's face and the flush that turned his skin at least three shades darker. He mumbled something the hobbit couldn't make out, but it was enough to interrupt the tirade Bilbo really didn't want to deliver. "I'm sorry, what?" he asked in exhaustion.

"I said I don't know how to do... anything, I've never..." Thorin spoke a bit louder at first, but again trailed off into mumbling. His mortification was clearly overwhelming, but Bilbo felt a momentary lightness pass through him.

"So... just to be clear," he said cautiously, "you don't find me... unattractive?"

"Mahal, why would you think that? You're... you're everything I... I don't understand." Thorin sounded honestly shocked. The moment of lightness was getting stronger, filling Bilbo with an increasing relief.

"Never mind why, we can talk about that later. Just humor me. You're just... nervous because you haven't done this before?" Thorin turned away and hid his face, and Bilbo suddenly understood everything. "I'm sorry, it's fine. Don't worry, Thorin. Look at me," he pulled at Thorin's shoulder until the dwarf rolled back over. "Yes, look at me. I love you, you silly thing, why would you be..." He stopped himself, fighting the urge to grin so broadly that he would ruin his next sentence. "I thought that since you always kissed me in a way that could melt my bones, you wouldn't be nervous. Let's start with a kiss, then, and see where it goes. If all you feel like doing is a kiss, that's fine... we don't even have to do that, as long as you are not displeased with me. There's no pressure, my love, this is supposed to be fun. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do." With that, he leaned over and kissed Thorin who lay rigid and still for a moment, just long enough that the hobbit worried that this might not have been his best idea, but then slowly his arms came up and wrapped around Bilbo. Hair that was still damp from the bath lay over Bilbo's face, and the sweet, clean scent of the soap filled his nostrils.

The kiss was slow and gentle and sweet at first, but gradually became more passionate. It was everything Bilbo remembered from his home before Dis told him to stop... the scratch of soft beard hairs on his face, the so-soft lips, but this time he could feel Thorin's body pressed against his. The dwarf was still thin by dwarven standards, almost dangerously gaunt by hobbit ones, but he radiated a blazing heat that Bilbo thought was amazing. The hobbit rolled over and straddled Thorin's hips, leaning over him and almost passing out from the sheer eroticism of it, this recently-unexpected bounty of pleasure. His lips slid away from Thorin's and to the thick, muscular column of his neck. The dwarf gave a shocked gasp and then moaned softly in a way that made Bilbo feel like his blood was on fire in his veins. He hadn't counted on the scent of Thorin being so strong under the clean soap-smell, but it rose up around him, smelling like smoke and spice and comfort. He could feel Thorin's uncomfortably tense body relaxing moment by moment.

" _Mizimel_ ," Thorin whispered. "That... oh..." Good to know, Bilbo thought smugly, and giggled at his own joke. He bit gently at the edge of Thorin's jaw, feeling a mouthful of beard on his lips and teeth and relishing the whine that came from his dwarf. Strong arms convulsed around him but managed not to constrain him too tightly.

"You are so handsome, my husband," Bilbo murmured softly into Thorin's ear. His hands slid across a chest that seemed to be made of slabs of muscle covered with a thick pelt of silver-touched black hair. Thorin moaned softly, hiding his eyes behind one hand. "No hiding, my love," the hobbit said teasingly. "Look at me." Thick fingers slowly slid away, revealing a wondering stare. The brilliant blue color wasn't visible in the reddish gloom, but Bilbo recognized the dark, lustblown look in those eyes and thought it was the most welcome sight of the night. He was surprised and pleased to feel strong hands sliding along his sides under his nightshirt, cupping his round belly, easing along his thighs. "Gorgeous," the hobbit sighed, unbuttoning the shirt that Thorin was wearing and tugging it off, then rubbing his fingers through the thick hair on his husband's chest. His dwarf was clearly older than the shirtless youth Bilbo had seen in his visions, but had even more muscle than he had possessed as a young smith. His broad shoulders were humps of brawn, thick arms, massive stonelike pectorals mossy with dark hair. It was different than being with another hobbit, so very different (not, Bilbo thought, that he had had so _very_ much experience even with other hobbits), yet Bilbo felt almost drunk with wanting it. He had dreamed about this for years, been close for months, given up an hour ago in despair, and now somehow it all came together. Bilbo traced the many scars, shaking his head at the number of them. "So many wounds," he whispered gently. "I hate that you were hurt."

"Dwarves fight the world, and the world fights us, you know this, my heart," Thorin rumbled, and for the first time Bilbo felt that voice vibrating from beneath him. He was instantly addicted to the sensation. He made an encouraging noise just to get Thorin to speak again. "Some of the wounds are from Azanulbizar, some from Erebor, some from this fight and that. I am old and battered, I'm afraid. It should be me who should fear to be found unattra... _oof_!" Bilbo wrapped himself around Thorin like a clinging vine, biting his ear, licking and chewing on his earlobe and enjoying the grunts and whines produced by this. Enough of that, he thought. We've had quite enough worry about who finds whom attractive, I should think. He reached back and with one hand felt down the line of Thorin's belly, through the hair and... oh my, he thought dazedly. I may be in trouble. That feels quite... sizable. Some of his concern must have showed on his face, because Thorin mumbled "We don't have to... you don't need to..."

"I'll be the judge of that," Bilbo said smartly, then giggled. Thorin grinned in spite of himself. "May I?" the hobbit said, not wanting Thorin to feel overwhelmed, and was delighted to receive a bashful nod. "I've been waiting for that permission for years," he whispered, enjoying the look on his dwarf's face at such scandalous talk. Turning around, he unfastened and pushed down the pants that his husband was wearing, and smiled in relief. Yes, he thought, that is bigger than a hobbit, but I think I can manage this. And thank the Green Lady for that! He slid backwards and rubbed his buttocks against it and relished the panting that Thorin produced. "Is that good, my husband?" he asked demurely, doing it again just to see Thorin's face change.

"I..." Thorin seemed barely able to speak, but his face still showed concern overlaid on lust. "I don't want to hurt you," he finally got out. Bilbo chuckled.

"I won't break, Thorin. Hobbits are much more durable than you might think. Trust me, won't you?" Going by how overwhelmed he looked, Bilbo wasn't sure that Thorin was quite ready to do _that_ right now, so he slid down the bed under pretense of getting his husband's pants the rest of the way off. He admired the furry legs, so thick with muscle they looked almost like tree trunks. Small, soft, pink feet were a tremendous temptation, but Bilbo moved back up between Thorin's legs to eye his prize. Leaning over, he ran his tongue without any warning up the large shaft that had been revealed and was amused when Thorin almost levitated off the bed. "Oh, was that pleasant?" he asked innocently, looking up and blinking his eyes at the dwarf's goggle-eyed look. "Shall we try it again and make sure you like it?" He repeated the action, nuzzling at the sensitive foreskin and the groan that his dwarf produced made him fight not to grin and ruin his ability to lick anything. He slid his mouth further down the shaft, making sure not to graze it with his teeth despite its size. After a moment he glanced up and couldn't resist laughing aloud at Thorin's stunned expression, pulling off and biting lightly at one stocky thigh just as the dwarf appeared poised to speak. He got a yelp in response, followed by a growl that sounded like a particularly angry bear. As Bilbo raised his head to make another laughing comment, he found himself unceremoniously lifted and spun around into the pillows. "What..." he started breathlessly just as Thorin's weight pressed him down, holding him in place.

"Biting now, are we?" Thorin whispered into one pointed ear. Dwarven teeth nibbled gently along the edge of the ear, making Bilbo writhe under him. Thorin had clearly been paying close attention, because as he began doing to Bilbo the things that had been done to him, all the hobbit could do was twist and moan (though there was a brief period of loud, breathless squealing when heavy dwarven hands wandered onto Bilbo's sides and Thorin discovered that hobbits are ticklish). Kissing Thorin had taught Bilbo that a beard was a secret weapon hobbits knew nothing of; having that weapon deployed against his naked body was almost more than he could endure. He was also mystified at how Thorin could go seamlessly from 'I have never done this before' to being such a tactile lover that it felt like he was in bed with three Thorins all at once. There didn't seem to be square inch of his skin that wasn't in contact with some part of his husband, and it was driving him pleasantly mad. As the dwarf's lips made their leisurely way down Bilbo's neck, across his collarbones, and started progressing down his belly, he could barely speak for panting.

"Thorin... what... I thought you said you hadn't..." Smiling blue eyes peered up at him as Thorin's tongue trailed across his belly and dipped into his navel, pulling a shiver out of the hobbit from his toes to his dark blond curls.

"Just because one has no practical experience," he began in a very pompous tone, then broke off to dodge a half-hearted kick from a hairy hobbit foot. He gave a small, secretive grin while doing so that raced along Bilbo's nerves like a wildfire. "I have heard of what is involved," he said, still grinning, pinning Bilbo's legs (quite unfairly, the hobbit thought) beneath his superior weight and size. "And I have an excellent teacher who just demonstrated the basics to me. Do you think me stupid?" He grinned again, leaning down and running his broad tongue the length of Bilbo's painfully hard cock. Pleasure made the world flash white for a moment.

"Not stupid," Bilbo panted. "Never that." He tried to move again but was still secured by a massive chest pinning his legs down. He sighed, glancing away. "A tease, maybe."

"Tease?" Thorin huffed in what the hobbit very much hoped was a false offended voice. The dwarf turned around and plunged his mouth down over Bilbo's hardness all the way to the root, coming back up choking and coughing for a second before repeating the action.

"Don't choke yourself, silly thing!" Bilbo said. "There's a way to..." and that was the point at which words stopped. Thorin might not have experience, but the hobbit dreamily admitted that he was a remarkably fast learner. Every time he could force his eyes open, he gazed down into a shrewd blue gaze that almost glowed, watching his reactions closely to learn what was good and what was even better. Never in the hobbit's wildest dreams, not even in the secret erotic fantasies when he was pleasuring himself, had he imagined that this much pleasure was possible. Thinking of sharing this moment with Thorin was enough to push him almost past a point of no return. "Thorin," he groaned, "stop, stop..."

Thorin paused, pulling off with a slurping sound that made Bilbo almost lose himself right there. "What? Am I doing it wrong?" The shadows were suddenly back in his eyes, and Bilbo could have kicked himself for putting them there. He almost wondered who had hurt his dwarf so badly before remembering the _adal_... everyone, he thought sadly. Everyone hurt him.

"You're doing it... I can't say too well because there's no such thing, but I'm... uh... it could get a bit, um, messy." Thorin brightened as he realized what was meant.

"Good," he said, and returned to what he was doing with enthusiasm. Bilbo reeled back (at least as much as he could, being pinned under an amorous dwarf). Surely he didn't mean... the thought couldn't even be completed before Bilbo was lost in his orgasm, pleasure spiraling through him and leaving him helpless. In just a few seconds, though, Thorin's mouth had gone from exquisite to excruciating and the hobbit fought him back, squealing again. 

"Too much," he whimpered into Thorin's confused look, "too much." Even so, he thought, the smug look that his dwarf was suddenly wearing was worth more than all the gold in Erebor. He tugged at one brawny arm until the dwarf moved up the bed and Bilbo curled around him. "Thorin... thank you. That was magnificent." Even in the dim light, the darkening of his dwarf's face was clearly visible, but Bilbo would have none of that. "Look at me," he said, turning Thorin's face towards him from where it had turned away. "I want you to do me a favor."

"Anything, my heart," Thorin said immediately. Bilbo gave a small smile.

"Good. Now. Lie back on the bed and give me the gift of letting me please you." At the dwarf's look of incomprehension, Bilbo laughed out loud in spite of himself. "Don't question me, just trust me. And shift over, I'm stuck." Still looking a bit confused, Thorin lay back and Bilbo clambered on top of him. He hadn't brought any oil and he thought that given Thorin's obvious insecurities they had been quite adventurous enough for one night, so he slid down Thorin's body, licking his way as he went. He had thought that all the hair would be troublesome but it wasn't at all; Thorin's reactions were exactly what he would have expected. He started with a gentle kiss, since he knew this was familiar, but as soon as Thorin started to take control, Bilbo stopped him with a smile. "Thorin... every moment of bringing you pleasure is a joy to me. It seems to me that you have had far too many occasions where you have had to give up your own pleasures in life to tend to everyone else. I assure you, that is not how your life will be with me. Now just relax."

Thorin looked aghast at first, but then nodded slowly. "As you wish," he whispered.

"Thank you," Bilbo said primly, staring into Thorin's eyes, then dragged his eyes down to what was waiting for him. "All this is _mine_ now," he said softly, since that seemed like something a dwarf would say. "And I will make use of it as I see fit." Thorin's delighted gasp was music to the hobbit's ears. He slid down and wrapped his lips around the hard flesh at the dwarf's groin. It was almost too large for this, but Bilbo trusted in the capacity of a hobbit mouth and was not disappointed. Thorin tasted faintly of soap and even though he had just had his own orgasm Bilbo's cock gave a twitch of approval. The hobbit couldn't think of a single time when he had ever been this turned on. He had had lovers before, but he had never felt like this. Soon enough, Thorin was groaning and writhing on the bed. Thorin's face was strained and sweat was appearing on his brow as Bilbo worked every trick he knew to bring the dwarf as much pleasure as could be had.

"I..." Thorin finally choked out.

"Mmhmm," Bilbo responded, knowing what was being said. Soon his mouth was full of seed and he was choking and fighting to keep up. Things got a bit messy. When Thorin shouted, he stopped and looked up. "See what I mean? Too much?"

"Mahal wept..." the dwarf sighed, falling back into the pillow heavily. "I didn't know... nobody ever told me..." He was gasping for breath and Bilbo felt suddenly proud. I did this, he thought. I made him sound like that, look like that. Me.

"Well, and they wouldn't," Bilbo said with a grin. "How do you explain that in words? I can try to tell you what a blackberry is for hours, but it's far faster to just give you one and let you taste it for yourself." He crawled out of bed and got a soft cloth from the guest cupboard and began cleaning up the mess on Thorin. Sleepy blue eyes watched him, seeming mesmerized by every small action. When he was finished, he tossed the cloth carelessly into the floor (ignoring Thorin's raised eyebrow) and cuddled up against his dwarf. The fact that they were both still naked was more than acceptable, as far as Bilbo was concerned. "Thank you, Thorin," he whispered softly, snuggling a little more firmly into the furnace-like heat from the dwarf's side.

"I did nothing. It is you who..." Thorin started and Bilbo rolled over immediately and kissed him quiet. It was a long, gentle kiss, so much calmer than the ones that had gone before. The earlier kisses were like tiny bites of food to someone who was starving; this kiss was the final, wonderful amuse-bouche after a glorious meal. Still, Bilbo thought, I should try to explain. He stared into the eyes of the dwarf who lay beside him and gave a tremulous smile.

"Thank you for being you. Thank you for bringing me love when I thought I was never going to have it. Thank you for just being my Thorin, who is kind, who is giving, who is clever, who is everything I ever wanted and more... Honestly, for being someone who is everything I would have wanted if I had dared to be selfish enough to want so very much," Bilbo whispered. "Thank you for everything."

"I..." It wasn't often that Bilbo saw Thorin utterly speechless, but he seemed to be so now. Finally he spoke, looking away. "I don't see myself like that, _mizimel_."

"I will help you see it then, because you are all that and more," the hobbit said as he curled up around his husband drowsily. Thorin pulled the bedclothes over them and then lay awake a long time after that with a sleeping hobbit nestled safely in his side.


	26. Chapter 26

Bilbo woke a bit disoriented, confused as to why he seemed to be both far too hot and pinned in place. A strong arm tightened a bit around him at his reflexive jerk, and he remembered. Oh yes, he thought smugly, despite the exceptionally bumpy road to get there, that was well worth it. Thorin's gentle snoring indicated that he wasn't actually awake, but in his sleep he had cuddled around Bilbo like a child with its favorite toy. That explains both the heat and the pinning, Bilbo grinned. He felt a bit foolish but he couldn't stop smiling. I'm not moving, he thought. If I sweat, I just sweat. This is worth any amount of inconvenience, to finally be in the arms of the one I've wanted for so long.

His bladder had other ideas. Sighing, Bilbo did his best to slide out from under heavy dwarven limbs gently, but no sooner had he stirred than bright blue eyes popped open. " _Mizimel_?" came a drowsy inquiry.

"Nature," he whispered. "Go back to sleep." All he got in response was a sleepy grunt. After a brief, suspicious glare around the room (as if enemies were hiding in the nightstand, Bilbo thought amusedly) the dwarf rolled over and buried his face in a pillow. When he got out of bed, the hobbit realized to his chagrin that he was still naked. Snickering softly to himself, he went into the adjoining area and did the necessary, then crept back to the bedroom. As he eased into the bed, Thorin had rolled himself up around one of the pillows in the same way he had Bilbo, so he was just a broad, smooth back crowned by long hair. There were a few scars on Thorin's back that bore investigation, but that could come later. Bilbo smiled a bit more broadly and wrapped himself around Thorin from behind, snuggling his face into the hair that smelled like his husband. A soft sigh from Thorin was the only acknowledgement, but he felt a bit of tension go out of the dwarf that he hadn't even noticed. They had all the time in the world for such things, a thought that made Bilbo relax in turn. He drifted off to sleep again, still smiling.

The second time he awoke, there was less confusion. Somehow while sleeping they had flipped around to the same position they had been in earlier. Thorin had just shifted in the bed and Bilbo's eyes popped open of their own accord. For someone unused to sleeping in the same bed as someone else, he realized that he had certainly had a restful night's sleep. "Good morning," he whispered to the sleepy dwarf next to him.

"Mm," was the initial response, followed by a drowsy "Good morning, _mizimel_ ," that made Bilbo's heart beat a little faster given how much warmth and love was to be heard in it. The hobbit rolled over and peered into a bleary, just-waking-up look that (if he hadn't already been so deep in love he was drowning) would have made him fall head over heels all over again. Thorin gave a lazy smile and feathered his fingers through Bilbo's curls, smoothing them where they were sticking up crazily. "I actually slept the whole night," the dwarf said in wonder. "I had almost forgotten what it was like."

"Had it gotten so bad, then?" Bilbo asked before he could have kicked himself. Why on earth would he ask such a stupid question at such a happy time? Foolish hobbit, he thought in disgust. Thorin gave a bitter little laugh that answered the question with perfect clarity.

"It doesn't matter now," was all the dwarf said, and Bilbo sighed in relief. There were many conversations that needed to be had, but they could wait. He saw the tightness around Thorin's eyes, the tension at the corners of his mouth, but those eased when Bilbo leaned closer and kissed him, pulling back in an almost bashful way. In response, Thorin's arms came up and wrapped around him. 

Bilbo wondered if they could spend the day here... if they were in the Shire, everyone would know to avoid the house of the newlyweds. Here, though, Dis would probably be banging on the door any minute demanding Thorin's attendance. He found his mouth speaking without even intending to do so. "I'm ready to go home." He flushed suddenly; where had that come from? Thorin was eyeing him, seeming surprised. "I mean, I'm sorry, I don't even know why..."

"Then we shall." Thorin said. "I told you before, I would do anything for you. I meant it. If you wish to go back to the Shire, we shall go. We can leave today, if you wish it. Whatever you desire."

"Thorin..." Bilbo sighed, both charmed and a bit frustrated. "No. Thank you but, that's not... not fair. To you, I mean. You have an equal voice in this, you know. You're my husband, not my servant. I'm flattered that you would... I just... ugh." Thorin's stare was confused and a little hurt. "I'm not doing a good job of explaining this, I can tell. What I saw in the _adal_... I saw a lot of things." By now his dwarf's face had closed up tight, and he was looking away. Wonderful, Bilbo thought sourly, next he'll be hiding behind his bloody hair again. "One thing I saw... look at me, Thorin," he interrupted himself. Shadowed blue eyes turned to him and he desperately wanted to just kiss them better but he knew that wasn't a stable path forward. That would solve nothing. "One thing I saw was that you always put others first. Always. You don't think that you are... good enough, or worthy enough, or something. And you are. You are worthy, Thorin. You deserve all the joy life can bring you." He pressed himself against his husband, trying to express through bodily contact what the dwarf refused to hear through words.

"I am... I was... a king." Thorin's words sounded proud, but Bilbo heard what wasn't being said. "The needs of others come first, or else I am a tyrant. I have seen..." he paused, staring past the hobbit, until Bilbo kissed his cheek just to bring his focus back. "I have seen what a tyrant looks like," he finished. "Worse yet, I have fallen into that once already. I cannot..."

"I know," Bilbo said softly. "I saw your grandfather. But hear me now... you are _nothing_ like him." He ignored Thorin's sudden pained look, and spoke fiercely and directly into Thorin's scowl. "Listen to me! I saw you fall beneath the dragon spell, true... but I also saw you emerge from it with your whole mind, and Dis said no dwarf has ever done that before. Be proud of that, not ashamed of falling in the first place." Thorin gave a choked sob, and Bilbo held him close, staring deep into his eyes as if to drive home the point. "And you are nothing, nothing at all like that evil old dwarf in your memories. I wouldn't be able to love someone who was like him, and I love you more than I have ever loved anyone, Thorin Oakenshield. Trust me to know the heart of my beloved, if nothing else." That got through, the hobbit saw; Thorin's eyes were wondering as they turned to finally see Bilbo instead of a bitter past.

"How do you always know what to say?" He asked in wonder. "After all the things that were done to you, all the things I did to you myself... how do you still love me?" Bilbo grinned at that, eyes alight.

"How do I still...? How do _you_ still love _me_? How does anyone love anyone? These are very silly questions, husband of mine. I love you because you are lovable, and because you have been kind and sweet and loving, and because..." he paused for a moment, "because somehow before we even got to Rivendell, you were so deep inside my heart and mind and I couldn't think of anyone else." Bilbo snuggled into Thorin, rubbing his nose where it was tickled by the edges of beard, then pressing himself more firmly into the furnace of Thorin's body heat. After a moment of comfortable silence, Bilbo murmured "The truth is, after my parents died, there wasn't a lot of... love and kindness in my life. Ham and Rhoda were always there, and Tom and Hugo that you met, but..." The hobbit gave a bittersweet smile into Thorin's collarbone. "When you appeared at my door, Thorin, you reminded me what joy was. I rather think I had forgotten."

"But I saw..." Thorin sounded as if his throat was full of broken glass. "There was another that you loved before me." Bilbo pulled back and stared at him, realizing that Thorin must have seen that in the _adal_. The hobbit sighed miserably and thought, because of bloody course he did. Even dwarven magic was meddlesome and importunate! Please, he thought, can we not talk about Mungo on the morning after my wedding?

"Yes, there was, true enough, but that's hardly relevant now," Bilbo said dismissively. "I'm a bit surprised he made the list of things for you to see, really. Poor old Mungo," he shook his head, then cuddled back into Thorin's side. "I haven't thought about him in years." That was a half-truth, he admitted privately, but no need to drag Thorin into all that. He thought he had been successful until strong arms pried him back enough for Thorin to look at him, and the expression on his dwarf's face was stormy.

"You ask me to trust you, and then you tell me things like this?" Bilbo cringed at being caught out; even so, he had to admit that was the kindest way he had ever been accused of lying. He wished Thorin had been angry, because the sadness and reproach he saw made him feel small and ashamed for telling such almost-lies. "He broke your heart. I saw it, Bilbo. I have accepted that there were others before me. Hobbits are different than dwarves in such matters, this I know. But do not expect me to accept that it meant nothing to you... your heart is too large and far too kind to set such pain aside so easily."

"I..." It was Bilbo's turn to look away. Knowing how possessive dwarves were, it made sense that they were jealous too. And weren't ex-lovers a dreadful thing to talk about on the morning of one's first day of marriage? "Alright, Thorin. I will concede that my statement wasn't exactly correct. He did break my heart, it's true," Bilbo sighed and looked back at his husband. He hadn't particularly wanted to delve into his late-tween experience with Mungo, but so be it. "I confess that it took quite a long time to feel... whole again, I suppose. It took years to recover. But it was years before I met you; long enough that I was almost completely healed from it by the time Gandalf dragged you into my home." He laughed suddenly. "Ultimately, you yourself were what healed the last of the damage, though it has been almost thirty years since Mungo and I last spoke."

"Me?" Thorin's voice was stunned.

"Oh yes," Bilbo said, aware that his face was revealing a pain he didn't usually express but he was fine with that. He was staring at Thorin and willing him to understand. "You see... I rather took the lesson from that experience that I was unlovable. Certainly, nobody else was interested beyond the physical, and I wasn't... inclined to allow anyone access to my heart, after that. I had given up on ever finding anyone and made my peace with being a bachelor forever, as I told you that first night." He reached up and caressed the dark hair that fascinated him so much, drawing comfort from its weight and smoothness. "Until a seemingly prickly, harsh, difficult dwarf who just happened to be handsome and utterly fascinating came and quite stole my heart away, even without my noticing. And since you reappeared at my door, I have never doubted for one moment that I was lovable, or fretted that I was destined for a life of loneliness." He cleared his throat, trying to speak past the tightness that gripped it. "That is why I thanked you last night, why I thank you now, and why I will thank you for every moment we share together. Every one of these moments is a gift." He took a shuddering breath. "I also saw that what I had thought was love with Mungo, wasn't. Nothing I have ever felt in my life has been like this, Thorin. There have been others who have touched my body, it's true, but you are the only one to touch my soul. I hope that is enough."

"Bilbo Baggins," Thorin scoffed (though the hobbit took heart from his husband's smile) "do not speak to me of 'enough'. I saw enough in the _adal_ to tell me that I was born to be with you; I have faith that we will spend the rest of time together in Mahal's Halls, as all _mashahnen_ do, and you will help us build a place for your people in the world to come. I saw... I saw myself come back from the dead to answer your call, or close enough. I don't remember that at all, but it must be so. You are more valuable to me than all the treasures in Erebor. If you are what passes for 'unlovable', then the world will end in flames today. Nothing is farther from the truth." He kissed Bilbo deeply, searchingly, and the hobbit was more than happy to meet it and allow himself to be distracted with pleasure. Last night had been tentative in places, but this morning each of them had learned a bit about how to please the other. Bilbo took time to explore Thorin's body, laid out for him like a feast.

"Tell me of this scar," he would say, and Thorin would laugh and tell him the tale. "You have a freckle here," he would murmur, then teeth and tongue would trace it, leaving Thorin sighing or panting. Unexpected amusement was found when Bilbo was finally exploring the scars on Thorin's back. The dwarf had one black hair out of place in the middle of one shoulderblade, alone in what seemed yards of smooth olive skin. After nipping at it, the hobbit drew himself up. "This," Bilbo said portentiously, "is the Lonely Hair of Erebor, and it was here that the dwarves..." Thorin whirled around as the hobbit spoke and grabbed him and they ended up rolled together on the bed laughing breathlessly like children. Exploring led to new discoveries, like how Thorin would jerk and writhe when Bilbo bit lightly at his neck, or how Bilbo would go peculiarly limp and boneless when Thorin rubbed his feet. By the time they were shuddering in the aftermaths of ecstasy, the morning was well advanced and (thankfully) there had been no knocks on the door. He realized also that he should have brought a proper set of clothes; he was so upset when he came to Thorin's door it hadn't even occurred to him.

"We should go out," Thorin finally said, as they both washed up in the bath together. "I wouldn't put it past Dis to send Khim in here to get us." The hobbit shuddered at that particular image; dealing with the obnoxious noble was difficult enough when fully clothed and not distracted by a naked husband.

"Do dwarves not... take time for themselves right after their marriage?" Bilbo wondered. "In the Shire, there is what is called a honeymoon, and it takes a week or so for people to come visit or disturb the new couple. Their work is done for them where possible, and people leave them to... well, enjoy themselves." He grinned at Thorin's flush; it was a good match with the slightly puffy lips from what the dwarf had just been doing.

"No," Thorin admitted. "We are a working people, Bilbo. There are always things that must be done. Pleasures are good, but we do not take time off for anything other than injury or other dire necessity, like childbirth; otherwise, life continues as normal. I am surprised that Dis has not been hammering on the door." Bilbo snorted; he suspected it was because she knew what the result of that would be, at least where the hobbit was concerned. 

"I suspect she is less than inclined to see the two of us naked, which suits me as well. Nobody gets to see my husband naked except me," he said acerbically, ignoring the snort of delighted laughter from his husband. "But to resume our earlier conversation... I think we should stay until you finish your business here. Even so, I won't mind seeing my tea kettle again, I must say." He turned to look at Thorin, who was staring thoughtfully into the washbasin.

"That is a curious thing to think of, _mizimel_. I could stay here for the rest of my life and not 'finish my business here', as you put it. Dis is glad to have me here to help adjudicate all the disputes that come with having several hundred dwarves living together in a small space." He grinned at the hobbit. "Over a thousand have already departed for Erebor, so you can imagine what it was like before. If I were still king in Erebor, you would probably have gone on a murderous rampage by now, stabbing dwarven nobles who interrupted our dinners with their arguments. It is for the best that I am now just a humble smith." 

Bilbo laughed outright at this. "Smith you may be, but you are a king to your fingertips," he said. "And the nobles of Erebor would have learned to fear me by now, for we would have been married for three years already. They would learn that hobbit meals are sacred events, and that all their fighting about gold and mines and mineral rights could wait until after dessert, or else I would poison their tea." He grinned, and Thorin laughed softly.

"Likely you would," the dwarf said with a wry grin. "Shall we go out?" Bilbo sighed and nodded, bracing himself for the scamper down the hall to get to his rooms. Luckily, when they got outside Dis had already departed and he was able to get dressed in proper clothing before joining Thorin for a late breakfast. Colmu didn't say a word, just set food on the table as though it were perfectly normal that they were eating at odd times. The rest of the day went by fairly smoothly, though Thorin went out for a bit to arrange for metal deliveries to be made to the Shire smithy. While he hated to see Thorin go even for a moment, he was comforted at this small sign that they would be returning eventually to his smial.

When his husband left, Bilbo retreated to the kitchen and discovered that a supply of fresh blackberries had just been delivered. He swiftly began work on a cobbler, rolling out pastry dough and setting it to chill in the bizarre crystal-lined metal box that the dwarves used like his own cold-well, then making a filling of a combination of whole and mashed, strained berries, sugar and just a wee bit of flour for thickening. As usual, Colmu watched the whole process without hovering, but Bilbo thought he should probably go home soon or else his entire recipe collection would end up on dwarven tables. The thought of his mother's reaction to such a thing made him grin through the rest of the cobbler preparation. Even so, by the time it came out of the oven he was tired and a bit out of sorts for how fiddly it was to make sure it was properly done. He made an allspice cream sauce and a honeyed oat crumble to go with it, then eyed Colmu's food. She had prepared a pork loin that was so enormous Bilbo couldn't imagine the size of the pig that had produced it, along with carrots and the omnipresent potatoes, this time layered with several brightly colored cheeses in some sort of complicated braided pattern that was doubtless loaded with meaning to a dwarf. To a hobbit's eye, all it conveyed was 'pretty', though even that was secondary to the suspicion that it was almost certainly delicious.

By the time Bilbo emerged from the kitchen to wash up, Thorin had returned and they sat about waiting for Dis to return while chatting about Thorin's conversation with Ironlord Vurn about the metal. It seemed Vurn had wanted for years to increase trade with the Shire, and he was curious if he sent Thorin a young smith or two as apprentices if it would strengthen ties. Thorin, in turn, had mentioned Bilbo's familial ties to the Thains (this briefly interrupted the conversation, as Bilbo put his head in his hands and refused to respond for several minutes) but he had agreed to accept an apprenticeship from one of the young dwarves from the foundry. "That's all fine and good, Thorin, but whoever you bring in must be willing to listen to Freddy," he pointed out, "as he was there first, and will have seniority over any newcomer from the mountains."

Thorin grinned broadly. "Bilbo, you realize that any dwarf sent to apprentice to me will be at least ninety years old, do you not? I cannot imagine a dwarf taking orders from a hobbit child."

"Well, you had best imagine it, because otherwise your apprentice will have problems with me... and you will as well, Master Dwarf, so just you remember that if the occasion should arise." Bilbo gave a sharp look at Thorin, who chuckled for a moment before realizing that his hobbit was quite serious. Bilbo could see the moment that the realization dawned, as Thorin sighed and settled back in his seat. The very idea, the hobbit fumed, as if the poor boy hasn't been through enough for three hobbits already!

"As you say, then," Thorin said with a sigh. "I will let Vurn know that my assistant is to be considered my second, then, so there is no confusion." Bilbo gave a short nod then leaned over and kissed Thorin on the cheek.

"Thank you," he said sweetly, ignoring Thorin's snort at such blatant manipulation. "So when do you expect your sister to return?" Thorin glanced over at him in seeming perplexity, only to see Bilbo blinking wide, innocent eyes in his direction. He threw himself backwards in laughter.

"I am a disgrace to my name and house," he panted, still chuckling, "married for barely a day and already completely under my husband's thumb." Bilbo tried his best to glare but his own grin was forcing its way onto his face.

"I hardly think..." he said in a mock-stuffy voice but Thorin wrapped his arms around him, dragging him back onto the cushions with a grunt.

"I regret nothing," he said in a deep rumble. "If disgrace it be, I will bear it. I am content to be in thrall to such a beautiful hobbit." He kissed Bilbo gently but thoroughly and the hobbit could feel his face burning even as heat rushed through the rest of him, particularly certain regions below the waist.

"Beautiful?" Bilbo said in a quiet voice. "Perhaps your eyes have been affected somehow. I think we might need to examine how well you can see in your chambers." Thorin's low sound of approval went through Bilbo like a bolt of lightning. He leaned over and gave Thorin a deep, soulful kiss just as the door opened.

"And I've heard quite enough about the bloody copper shaft on the fourth... the..." Dis' voice faltered as she took in the pair on the couch struggling to arrange themselves more appropriately. Bilbo sat up hurriedly as did Thorin, faces flaming. Thorin leapt off the couch as though burned, going to poke up the fire and toss another log onto it as though nothing had been going on. Bilbo, for his part, stared determinedly at the cushion where Thorin had been sitting as though it might run away if he took his eyes off it. He was vaguely aware of Dis coming in, followed by a few others. "Er... on the fourth deep," she finally continued. Bilbo ignored the prickling sensation of being stared at. "Muru and Buri have been arguing about that seam for twenty years, so why should they come to blows now? What else is down there, anyway? Var, send someone to take a look under a writ with my seal, because if they've hit gems or something more valuable I want to know about it before I render a judgment. Perhaps King Thorin has an opinion?" The cheerful malice in her voice was audible even to Bilbo, who cut his eyes at her where she stood by the table. The smile on her face was exactly what he had expected.

Not to be outdone, Thorin nodded gravely, acting for all the world as though he had thought about nothing else all afternoon. "Indeed," he said, "assess the seam, that copper splits at the fault, there could be all sorts of inclusions in that area, especially where that double fold occurs near the big limonite deposit. I would suspect amethyst first, or garnets if there's a schist pipe, but there may even be blue or green opals if the water table had..." and at that point Bilbo gave up listening. He knew from personal experience that dwarves could talk about geology longer than pig herders could discuss pigs, but he found the subject even less engaging than the bloodlines of swine. The only positive in being there for a detailed discussion of how three stone deposits twined around each other was Dis' poorly hidden irritation at not being able to put her brother on the spot with her sudden request. Deciding to do his part (well Thorin _was_ his husband now, weren't they supposed to be a team?) Bilbo walked by Dis and smirked at her as he walked by in such a way that only she could see. The other dwarves with her seemed oblivious, but it seemed to vex her quite sufficiently for him to feel Thorin was avenged. He then went into the kitchen to make sure that all the food including his cobbler was warmed and ready for serving.

When he emerged, the servants came with him and served everyone. The meal had barely begun before Thorin casually leaned over, took food from the common platter and passed it to Bilbo. He served himself and looked up just in time to see Dis' face change. She was clearly startled, then looked down, flushed, then started to giggle. Thorin sat, calmly chewing, watching as she snickered loudly. The other dwarves (Var, Mori and Dimur, though Bilbo had no idea what their roles were) seemed to ignore the whole interaction, but Thorin finally swallowed his food and said "Is something funny, Dis?"

"No," came her choked reply. "I was just... thinking of a story." She dabbed at her beard with her napkin, trying unsuccessfully to hide her leer. Thorin nodded, though his eyes were half-lidded as he gazed at her.

"Oh, share with us," he drawled. "Amusing stories are always good entertainment, though not all of our family would agree." Bilbo could tell from the set of his jaw that Thorin was thinking of their grandfather and the hobbit forced the away the rage that accompanied thoughts of that horrible old dwarf. The _adal_ had ensured that the hobbit could never hear Thror mentioned without a visceral reaction. Dis glared at her brother's response, and Thorin smiled sweetly, slowly popping another carrot into his mouth. She promptly choked, clutching at her tankard of ale. Bilbo wasn't sure whether he wanted to laugh, be embarrassed, or throw food at the two of them; after a moment, he realized that all three would likely be acceptable dwarven reactions. How quickly we adapt, he thought in amusement.

Dis glanced at the potatoes, then looked again. "Is there a reason that Colmu has baked us a potato casserole with the braid of victorious departure on it?" Thorin sighed, then braced himself.

"Yes," he said firmly, ignoring Bilbo's sudden glance of uncertainty. "Bilbo and I are returning to the Shire tomorrow."


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay... this just wouldn't come together the way I wanted it. I finally baked what I had, and hope you enjoy it :) I love you all <3

By the time they went to bed, Bilbo's head was pounding. Thorin's face looked like a stone wall; his lips hadn't been visible for the last hour, mouth pressed to a thin, hard line beneath his black beard. Dis was intolerable, the hobbit thought furiously. At least she had thrown the other dwarves out before pitching what turned out to be a truly extravagant fit, even by the standards of someone who had grown up surrounded by Tooks. She raged, she cried, she shouted... over and over, she shouted. Even Colmu came in to get the dishes, rolled her eyes, and left without touching the leftover food. They might have still been in there had she not turned at last to Bilbo with wild eyes and shouted "I can't believe you would..." which was half a sentence too much for Thorin's already badly strained patience. Hobbit ears weren't meant to endure the volumes his husband had reached at that point, shouting what was undoubtedly abuse in Khuzdul before placing a firm hand on Bilbo's shoulder and practically dragging him back down the hall; his ears were still ringing.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," Thorin said in a dour voice once they had reached the relative silence of his chambers.

"I... Thorin, what..." Bilbo stammered. "What on earth..." he tried again.

Thorin sighed heavily, head hanging as he sat down on the edge of the bed. "She gets like this," he said, explaining nothing. At Bilbo's incredulous stare, he sighed again and grimaced. "Dis was always dramatic as a child. She has mostly grown out of it, and is a very competent and capable leader, though I would never tell her as much." A lightning grin passed across his face. "But she worries. And when she worries, rather than fuss over people as some might, she shouts at them." Ah, Bilbo thought. This is a Durin family trait with which I am rapidly becoming familiar. He supposed that did make a bit of sense if one squinted at it. Thorin grunted irritably. "I wasn't sure what she was going to say to you, but it wouldn't have been good, and I won't have her insulting my husband just because she's in one of her moods. She will be better by tomorrow."

"If you say so," the hobbit said with a dubious look. "I've never seen anyone get like that, but you know her best I suppose." He took a deep breath, which helped to alleviate some of the tension still in his shoulders. Even after the row they had made in his smial the night of her arrival, it hadn't occurred to Bilbo that the two siblings could make quite so much fuss... or at such volume.

"You should have seen her when we left to reclaim Erebor," Thorin said, eyes glittering in reluctant amusement. "She threw an axe at me so hard the blade shattered against the wall." At Bilbo's horrified look, the dwarf snorted. "She meant to miss me, of course. Dis would hit anything she truly aimed at with an axe, she's not to be trifled with." Thorin unlaced his boots and pulled them off, then began removing his tunic. The hobbit was a bit surprised at how nonchalant his husband was acting with undressing in front of him before he saw the slight pinkness of Thorin's ears. Ah, he thought in a rush of warmth, well done. "She knew I was going, and she knew I was taking Balin and Dwalin, who were integral in keeping order around here. That was bad enough. When she realized that _both_ her sons were absolutely determined to go with me..." Thorin pulled his tunic over his head, revealing the under-tunic he wore as sleep gear. "It wasn't pleasant."

"I would imagine not, if it was worse than that out there," Bilbo retorted. A thought struck him. "You realize that you mustn't leave without bidding Colmu farewell, right? She will miss you, whether she's glad to be rid of me in the kitchen or not," he said with a small grin. The hobbit took his coat off and folded it neatly over the rack nearby, but he was too busy watching Thorin undress to bother with more clothes. This was a show he couldn't imagine ever tiring of watching.

"As you say," Thorin replied glumly. He turned and pulled off his trousers in one swift motion, standing with his back to Bilbo as he pulled on his sleeping pants... the same ones that the hobbit remembered pulling off the night before. Bilbo had seen him in bed in the ember-glow of the fire, but not in the light of the full lamp. Thorin's round, firm buttocks had surprised Bilbo at how muscular they were, even in comparison with his massive thigh muscles. In spite of himself, Bilbo licked his lips, which were unaccountably dry for some reason. When Thorin turned back the dwarf's face was a bit flushed, but even so he smiled gamely and said "Are you coming to bed?" He had barely finished the words before Bilbo realized he hadn't brought anything to sleep in; he hadn't even thought of it after being shouted at and then hustled off to Thorin's bedroom so abruptly. While a few nights ago this might have seemed insurmountable, now he merely gave a particularly devilish grin and stepped forward lightly on the balls of his feet. Thorin shot him an intrigued but slightly uneasy look, standing still and looking down into the hobbit's eyes as Bilbo walked up to him.

"I seem to have a bit of a conundrum," the hobbit said softly, popping the buttons on the front of Thorin's shirt and running his fingers through the hair on the revealed stripe of chest while relishing the swift inhale this produced. "You see, I don't have anything to wear to bed." Bilbo pulled out his shirttails from his trousers, undoing the shirt's buttons and letting it fall open as he spoke. Thorin seemed fixated, blue eyes shining where they stared at the flesh thus revealed. "I would feel... _terribly_ uncomfortable... if I were the only one not wearing anything." Clever hobbit fingers pushed Thorin's nightshirt off his shoulders and slid into the loose waistband of his sleeping pants. "Please don't make me feel out of place."

A harsh huff of breath was Thorin's only response for a moment, then he licked his lips slowly. "I would be a poor host to treat you so," he growled, and the hoarse tones of his voice went through Bilbo like a burning wave. "By all means, I wish for you to feel nothing but comfort here." Stocky dwarven hands unfastened Bilbo's trousers, sliding them down a bit before the hobbit pulled back and unbuttoned the legs of his breeches, allowing them to fit over his feet. He stepped out of the pool of fabric, wearing nothing but an open shirt hanging on his shoulders, and Thorin's gaze was blazing like a forge. To think, Bilbo realized with a sudden burst of smugness, just last night at this time I thought he found me unattractive!

"Thorin, if you had looked at me like that while we were traveling together, we would have been married before the dragon was even dead," he said with a wry smile, and cherished the chuckle he got in response. Stepping forward into his husband's embrace, Bilbo whispered into the rounded ear before him "or I would have simply snuck into your bedroll and created the largest scandal in the history of Durin's house." Thorin grunted in seeming surprise, and Bilbo saw the flush start at the base of the dwarf's muscular neck and move upwards. He pressed himself against the furry chest in front of him and enjoyed the scraping of the hair against his bare, smooth belly and chest. "It was difficult resisting how I felt for you then," he whispered in the same low, intimate tone, "and even more difficult when you were in my house. I wanted so badly to creep into your room and do... all sorts of things." He raised heavy-lidded eyes up to where Thorin was staring, frozen, breath rattling harshly in his throat. Heavy dwarven hands eased the shirt off of Bilbo's arms with a silken sound, leaving him naked.

"I..." Thorin said, then swallowed strongly. "I wish I had known," he said finally, "but I am glad we waited. I would never wish to bring you dishonor, my heart." Bilbo leaned close and noticed the pulse in Thorin's neck, kissing it gently then moved upwards, standing on tiptoe to reach.

"You honor me now with your desire, my husband," Bilbo whispered in a gentle voice right into Thorin's ear, as he licked and nibbled at it. "The waiting is over for us." This seemed to be too much for Thorin; with a whine that was at least half a groan, he lifted Bilbo bodily and set him on the bed, then leaned in and pressed his lips to Bilbo's nipple. Hobbit fingers tangled in that dark cloud of silver-streaked hair that drove Bilbo mad, hair that was sliding along his body along with soft lips and scratchy beard and oh Green Lady of Trees... He writhed under the assault. "Stop, wait, Thorin, _oh_..." His vision flashed white for a moment with pleasure and it was all he could do to tug at the dark braids sliding across his naked chest.

"What is wrong, _mizimel_?" Bilbo could feel Thorin's breath on the wet stripes where his mouth had just been, making the hobbit shiver in lust.

"Hardly wrong, I just... don't want this to end so quickly. Move for a moment, love... I want to fetch something." Thorin eased down onto the bed as Bilbo fought his way back to standing, knees shaking a bit with the aftershocks of the pleasure he had just experienced, though desire was still tense at the base of his spine and burning in his belly. He stepped over to the dresser where, earlier in the afternoon, he had hidden a vial of oil. When he took it and turned around, Thorin's eyes widened and he drew down into himself a bit. "None of that, my love," Bilbo said softly, coming back to the bed. "There's no need to worry about anything. If you'd rather not, I understand, I just..." 

Thorin bit his lip. "I don't want to hurt you," he said finally. Bilbo would have made a joke to try and diffuse the tension, but he wasn't sure that was the correct path forward. The hobbit also noticed that there hadn't been any statement indicating a lack of desire, which was heartening.

"You won't," he finally said in a sure voice. "And if you do, I will say so, and we can either change how we are arranged or do something else. Do you trust me?" Thorin nodded slowly. "Good, then trust me in this." Throwing all sense of propriety to the winds, he leaned forward and said "Because I want you inside me, Thorin. I want it very, very badly. Don't you want to give me what I want?" The dwarf was positively glowing crimson at this statement, but he seemed unable to look away. Bilbo's hazel eyes held him pinned as he finally gave a shuddering breath and nodded slowly. "Good," the hobbit said, leaning forward and giving him a slow, languorous kiss. Callused blacksmith hands cupped his buttocks as Bilbo smiled down at his husband. "I was going to wait until we were in my bed at home," he half-whispered, feeling mischievous for seeing how long he could keep the blush going behind Thorin's beard, "but perhaps I should be ashamed to admit that I can't wait that long. It would seem that Dwarves aren't the only ones who can be greedy for what they want." Thorin groaned when Bilbo's hand found his very hard cock and slid around it, up and down, working the foreskin back and forth gently. The slick oil from his fingers left it wet. "And this is what I want. I am starving for you," he found himself saying, realizing even as he said it that the expression would probably mean nothing to a dwarf. Even so it was intoxicating to stare at the dwarf laid out before him on the bed like a table full of nothing but his favorite things. "Watch and learn", he murmured.

Thorin gazed in rapt fascination as Bilbo prepared himself, one oiled finger at a time. The dwarf's hands twitched and Bilbo could tell that his husband wanted to take a more active role, but he shook his head and continued with his show; not like this would hardly be the only time they did this, he thought smugly. After a particularly grabby moment, the hobbit fixed his husband with a stern glance. Thorin promptly put his hands over his head, stretching the muscles upwards and creating more of a distraction with his heavily muscled body than he gave any impression of realizing. Bilbo almost allowed him to use those amazing hands... just the thought of being wrecked by those massive fingers was delicious. One thing at a time, he remonstrated with himself. You've set yourself enough of a challenge with this, you greedy thing! He gave Thorin's erection an admiring (if wary) glance. He reached out and wrapped his oily hand around the thick cock before him, twisting and sliding the lubrication onto it. His husband's cry of surprised pleasure almost startled him. "If... this is to last..." the dwarf panted, clutching at the bed's sturdy bronze frame with his outstretched hands. Bilbo only smiled devilishly and released his hold, watching the column bob unsupported in time with the dwarf's heartbeat. He could hear harsh breaths from Thorin, eyes wide and lustblown. Bilbo kept smiling as he straddled the body laid out underneath him like an offering, knees pressing into Thorin's flanks. He leaned back, arranged Thorin's shaft where it needed to be and sat down slowly. He tried his best to ignore the overwhelmed look of adoration in front of him; as lovely as it was, it threatened to distract him from what was becoming a rather tricky process. Slowly he eased downwards, the remembered burning stretching fullness so much more than his memories of it, trying to remember to breathe. Fields and flowers, his husband was _huge_! "Ohhhhhh..." came a breathy exclamation from beneath him that he could feel through his thighs.

The hobbit began to worry that the initial penetration would never end. You saw it, he reminded himself sternly, it can't be as long as it feels. After a few exploratory slides up and down, he took a bit more in, groaning from the feeling. He reached behind himself, sure that he must be practically sitting on the bed by now, let alone Thorin, but found even more length still to go. At the brush of his hand across the swollen orbs at the base, a whimper came from the dwarf. The long, oiled slide of hardness against his prostate was excruciatingly pleasant, making Bilbo want to howl like a wolf at the moon, but he also knew beyond certainty that slow movement was key if he wanted to walk tomorrow. Finally just as he was about to admit defeat, he felt crisp, springy curls pressing against his rear. He glanced down in triumph at the face of a Thorin he barely recognized. White teeth were visible biting into his lower lip, eyes rolled almost totally back, a look on his face Bilbo had never seen before and knew immediately that he couldn't live without seeing again, and as often as possible. "Yes?" he asked breathlessly, voice rising in a squeak. It felt so amazing he wasn't even sure what he was asking.

"Mahal," came the broken reply. "Yes, yes, yes." Slowly the hobbit raised and lowered himself a tiny distance, then a bit more, easing into things and feeling so full he thought he might just explode. His thighs were burning, his skin was on fire, and he felt as if he could open his mouth and have Thorin's cock emerge, pierced right through. It was glorious though different than anything he had felt before... it was just so much more intense. He slowly raised and lowered himself until his comfort had increased, reveling in the pants and noises from his husband beneath him. Thorin's hands fell to Bilbo's hips and he gave the hobbit a pleading look; Bilbo nodded and smiled encouragement. He suspected neither of them would last much longer, but even so it was a shock when he felt the dwarf beneath him bunch and thrust upwards once, twice, three times, and then Bilbo found himself coming, painting the fur of Thorin's belly with white stripes. His orgasm had barely begun before Thorin's hands clenched around his hips, and almost immediately he felt the pulsing deep within that told him he wasn't alone. When he came down from the peak of pleasure, Thorin was utterly ruined beneath him, splayed in sweaty wreckage. Bilbo felt a wash of quiet pride as he navigated the sensitive process of disengaging.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to fetch me a cloth this time," Bilbo leaned forward (well, fell if he was being honest) and whispered into his husband's ear. "I don't think I can walk over there at this precise moment." He giggled despite Thorin's immediate look of concern.

"Are you... I knew it would..." Bilbo closed Thorin's mouth by kissing him. Once he was certain his husband was fully distracted, he pulled back an inch or so, enough to speak.

"If you tell me that was unpleasant for you, then I will apologize," Bilbo said softly with a pensive expression, teasing at the curls on Thorin's chest with one finger. Half-grinning at the expression of dismay on Thorin's face, he went on. "But if you try to tell me that was unpleasant for _me_ , I'll call you mad. I had waited for that for far too long as it was, and you'd better get used to it if you liked it, because I have every intention of making this a regular habit." He put his head down for a moment into the covers. "Even so, I would still thank you for that cloth." Thorin's quick scramble to fetch it made him smile into the coverlet.

Once they were cleaned up, they lay for a bit, cuddling and making small talk about nothing in particular until Bilbo felt capable of moving. He went and washed up properly and returned to a Thorin who kissed him like they had spent days apart instead of minutes, then the two of them wrapped around each other in a tangled pile of limbs and warmth and went to sleep. Thorin did, at any rate. Bilbo lay in the darkness of the room, feeling the mountain above him and thinking of the Shire for the first time in what felt like far too long. As his husband's gentle snores stirred the curls on the back of his head, he thought about Freddy and hoped the faunt was studying. He wondered how Hobbiton was getting by without the forge, which led to wondering if Piggy had kept it closed or if anyone else had come by, which led to wondering if Ham was having problems with the garden... it was quite late by the time he finally drifted off, arse still feeling tingly with the best sort of tender ache.

=

The next morning Bilbo's aches and pains were certainly present, but he woke with a lightness in his heart and as much of a spring in his step as circumstances permitted. Dis was indeed much calmer (though her expression as he picked his way gingerly out of the room wearing the same clothes he had worn the day before was always and forever going to be one of his favorite memories). As they gathered the things they had brought, each of them in their own rooms, Bilbo gasped. Oh, he thought dumbly. I am truly a terrible person. Making his way as quickly as possible to Thorin's room, he flung open the door to a bemused looking Thorin. "I forgot something urgent," he said in a hurried voice.

"What is it, _mizimel_?" Thorin looked tense and ready for battle, snatching up his sword from where it lay on the dresser. That was so ridiculous in context that Bilbo laughed for a moment, getting him an irritated look.

"Nothing dangerous, Thorin," he finally managed to say, "I just need to go by the market downstairs before we leave. At the very least, I'd like to get something nice for Fortinbras, since I really threw quite a lot on him over the past few months and then just left him with Freddy and everything else. And... maybe something for Ham and Rhoda. Oh, and Tom and Hugo, good heavens! Do you know, they teased me for an entire year after hearing the story of Erebor that I stood in a giant pile of treasure and brought them nothing?" Thorin's slow sigh of understanding made Bilbo realize abruptly that he really had thought it was much more serious than... flashes of memory from the _adal_ went through his mind and Bilbo was embracing his husband before he stopped to think. The final bits of battle tension slipped away from Thorin even as hobbit arms wrapped around him, but Bilbo felt very small indeed. Another thing to remember, he realized. 'Urgent' means something different to someone who is used to fighting goblins and orcs than it does to someone who is only thinking of social niceties.

"Of course we can," Thorin said with a sigh, kissing Bilbo's curls. "I will see to it. I will ask Dis if she is sending guards with us, but if I have to carry more items I will be happy to do so." He smiled fondly down into Bilbo's shocked look.

"I hadn't even thought... do you think she wouldn't? I feel a bit foolish now, I had assumed we were going the way we came, in a cart." Thorin's smile in return wasn't quite as certain as Bilbo would have liked.

=

As they made their way through the market, Bilbo felt like he was in danger of hurting his neck from craning around to look at the sights. Why, he wondered, did I not come down here before? Each statue was a true work of art, dwarves holding weapons or tools, some known to the hobbit and some not. Market stalls and displays were set throughout the great hall, roughly though not perfectly sorted by what was being sold. The occasional food vendor appeared even among the metalworkers or stonemasons, and much of what was being sold was raw materials for crafting. Bilbo had no need for blocks of fine-grained stone, ingots of metal or rough gems, but it was all fascinating nonetheless. Having Thorin present was like walking the market with a celebrity; dwarves came from every corner to slowly pass by, and the constant murmurs of "my king" made him feel warm inside despite the discomfort Thorin displayed at all the attention.

As soon as Bilbo began actually shopping and not just taking in the sights, yet another benefit of being with Thorin manifested itself. More than once, Bilbo would look at something and the vendor would grunt and actually take the item out of his hands, giving him a better quality one of whatever it was (occasionally going so far as to fetch it from the back of the stall, or from storage). Fortinbras was easy; Bilbo saw a fancy walking cane made of ebony with a silver head on it in the shape of a thistle flower that was perfect for his cousin. After a bit of looking around, he also found a set of iron gardening tools for Ham (Thorin grumbling that he could make better) and a brooch for Rhoda carved of some type of cloudy blue stone that he had never seen before. No payment was offered, nor appeared to be expected, which Bilbo found a bit shocking. Thorin barely spoke, but the shopkeepers bowed to him wherever Bilbo went, occasionally bowing to Bilbo as well once they saw his beads. It was all very strange, and utterly unlike shopping in Hobbiton, he was forced to admit. In the Shire, markets were loud and the constant banter with the merchants made a familiar raucous accompaniment to the bright sun; here the lamps were just as bright, but there was none of the laughter and noise, just sharp glances and nods, half-smiles and frowns with a sussurus of low speech and swirling movement. Turning a corner, he saw a silver ewer and salver set that he knew Tom and Hugo would love. Thorin picked it up and gave it an inspection that left the shopkeeper practically sweating, but finally nodded and handed it to Bilbo. Thorin leaned in close and said "Anyone else?"

"Freddy," Bilbo replied. Thorin thought for a moment and then smiled broadly, a smile Bilbo never expected to see outside their own quarters. Taking Bilbo by the elbow, he led him to one corner where an old dwarf sat with a knife, whittling away industriously at a block of dark fine-grained wood. Carved creatures were everywhere, all painted with bright colors and some of them were moving under their own power somehow. The old carver seemed practically made of wood himself, dark skin glowing and long white beard tucked into his belt, nearly bald head shining with sweat. His woolen clothes were speckled with chips of wood and sawdust and his hands were crooked and scarred, but Bilbo thought he was the most peaceful looking dwarf he had seen in his entire time here in the mountain. His black eyes looked like deep pools, undisturbed by anything. Glancing up, the shopkeeper nodded deeply in a half-bow to Thorin, but his eyes twinkled when he saw Bilbo.

"King Thorin, be welcome to my humble shop with your consort," he grinned, showing a mouthful of gaps and broken teeth. "Joy in your marriage." Thorin glared at him for a moment, making Bilbo wonder if this was about to be awkward before Thorin stepped forward while laughing and clapped the other dwarf on the back.

"Winfur, bad enough I had to put up with your boys the whole way to Erebor, now I come back to say hello and you start up immediately." Shaking his head in mock-outrage, Thorin grabbed the other dwarf by the shoulders and pressed their foreheads together before his words sank in for Bilbo. Boys...? Thorin turned to Bilbo, one arm still around the old carver. "Bilbo, this is Winfur son of Wofur, father of Bofur and Bombur, uncle to Bifur. Winfur, this is..."

"The Burglar of Erebor," Winfur stepped up and bowed to Bilbo properly. "I am truly delighted to meet you, Master Baggins, I've gotten more than a few good reports of you from my family. You made quite the impression on them." His eyes twinkled with delight as he cut them over to Thorin. "On everyone, it would seem." Thorin's loud scoff rang out in the market making a few people look over.

"You're an ass," he chuckled, "I always knew where your lads got it from. Bilbo, watch out for this one, he's the reason neither Bofur nor Bombur could be trusted to behave themselves." He glanced back over at Winfur. "We've a present to buy. Bilbo has..." he looked down and cleared his throat, "that is, we have a young hobbit who was a bit upset for us to leave. If anything could make up for the trip, I thought surely one of Winfur's fancies might appeal to the boy." The older dwarf nodded, looking thoughtful. One scarred hand rose to scratch his beard as he turned to the hobbit.

"Tell me about him," he said, surprising Bilbo a bit. "What does he like?"

Bilbo sighed. "That's a bit difficult. He's a very bright lad, but he was raised in quite poor circumstances; I doubt he's had much in the way of toys or similar. We..." Winfur's raised hand cut him off.

"Your pardon, but not what I meant. Is he bold? Shy? Studious? Tricky? What's he like? His nature?" Dark eyes were intent on the hobbit, making him feel a bit more seen than he was accustomed to.

"He... he's quite bright, but a bit scattered I suppose. Fauntlings often are. He can be brave and forward in social situations, despite having had a rather rough go of it in life, but I think it's from having to fight to get anything rather than native boldness. He's a survivor, that's for sure; nothing seems to keep him down for long. He's...?" He didn't even finish the sentence before Winfur was pulling out a brightly painted rabbit from behind his seat. It was painted white but elaborate swirls of red and green and yellow made patterns around its body, and its eyes were so well painted they looked almost aware. He set it down and touched a spot on its back. At the touch, the rabbit began to sit up, groom its ears, and hop about. Bilbo couldn't imagine a child who wouldn't want such a thing. The rabbit suddenly looked up as though seeing a predator and crouched exactly like a real rabbit, colors shifting on its body to look like a rock. After a moment, the colors returned and it began the cycle again, sitting up to groom itself. Bilbo gasped. "That... how..."

"Leave me my secrets, Master Burglar," came the good-natured response. "That should do right for your boy, I should imagine. If not, bring him with you next time and we will see if we can do better." 

"I..." Bilbo was, for once, speechless. "Thank you," he finally said. "Thorin," he whispered, "please, pay him something! This is..." but Thorin's hand on his arm grew heavier. Dark blue eyes shot a warning though Bilbo kept his pleading look.

Raising his voice slightly, Thorin said "Winfur, your artistry has only grown since last I saw it. You honor us," and he gave a short bow, raising eyebrows on all standing nearby. Winfur seemed startled for a moment, the first time Bilbo had seen the dwarf's peaceful exterior rattled, but he realized the calm was still there just beneath the surface, like the still depths of a lake below a surface ripple. Winfur's deep bow in response practically swept the floor, and without a word Thorin put the rabbit in Bilbo's hands and off they went. "The line of Durin does not pay in coin," he whispered to Bilbo as they carried their packages back to the royal quarter. "We pay in custom. My compliment was worth more to him than any coin." Bilbo nodded as though he agreed, but his mouth was still a bit firm. Once they had returned to the suite with their items, Bilbo left Thorin to pack them away securely and went into the kitchen.

By the time Thorin knocked awkwardly at the kitchen door to look for Bilbo, the hobbit was up to his elbows in flour. "I'll be out in a bit," he said, mixing ingredients in a bowl, and refused to answer Thorin's question. Colmu went over to him and chuckled.

"He's cooking, Thorindu, best leave him to it," she said with a sly grin. "If you haven't learned to leave a busy cook alone by now, you will soon enough. He'll be out in a bit I'm sure." She wrapped her old arms around him and squeezed, pressing herself against him as Bilbo smiled fondly from his mixing bowl. "Ee, lad, I'll miss you fierce but it does my heart good to see you'll be fed prop'ly. Your husband knows his way around a kitchen right well, I'd say," she cut her eyes at Bilbo, whose flush was clearly visible. The hobbit hoped his husband knew what strong praise that was, but saw from his expression that he did indeed. Colmu turned back to Thorin, looking up at him from her twisted spine, an expression of wistfulness on her seamed face. "I'll likely not be here when you come back, if you do," she said softly, ignoring his uncomfortable scoffing sound. "I want you to know, my Thorin, I'm as proud of you as a dwarf could be. I loved you like my own child I never had, you and your brother and sister. To see you happy is all I ever wanted. And happy you are with this one, I can see it in your face, and I wish you all the joy of it there is left in this world." With that, she hugged him again and then pushed him bodily out of the kitchen. Bilbo felt like crying, but instead slid the apricot loaf he was making into the oven; crying wouldn't help, and besides if he did he knew Colmu would mock him relentlessly for it.

"When this comes out," he told the ancient dwarf, "I want it taken still warm to Winfur the toymaker. Can you have that done, please?" She nodded, but gave him an inquisitive look. "He should be told it's made by my hands, and that his toy was worth it and more, and please send it with my compliments." Her hooting laugh rang through the kitchen as she hugged him as she had Thorin.

"You're more a dwarf with each passin' day, lad," she said. Stepping back, she smiled fondly. "I'll see it done, and your words passed along just as you said 'em. I'm glad to have shared a kitchen with you, Bilbo Baggins. For a hobbit, you're more of a dwarf than one might think." And with that cryptic comment, she pushed him out as well. Dis was waiting, and after another tearful farewell she walked them down to the guards she had assigned them as an escort. Bilbo recognized Frar from the trip here, though the other guard wasn't Buri; regardless, he was glad to see them. After one last horn blast and salute from the guards, the ponies began to move and they departed for the Shire in the afternoon sunlight, woods blazing around them in green and gold.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for how long this update took... life happens, you know? You guys are the best, and kindest and most patient and (insert superlatives here) and I will try to make speedier speed with the next chapter. Work is being work, so no promises, but I will try :)
> 
> Love you all! <3 <3 <3

Compared to the outward trip to Shahrulbizad, the trip home was gentle and leisurely. The unfamiliar guard turned out to be named Nur, and was as dour and uncommunicative as Dwalin had been in the first days of the journey to Erebor. Despite Nur's silence and Thorin's tendency to brood, the weather was good; the afternoon sun was warm in the few sunbeams that penetrated the canopy of leaves far above and gentle breezes rippled through the trees bearing the smell of loam. The heat of summer was somewhat muted, despite it being the usual hottest part of the season, and the cool depths of the forest kept the sun from being oppressive. Bilbo thought that the best part of all was that on this trip back to the Shire there was no anxious Dis fretting and cursing. The hobbit had packed enough food for relatively lavish camping meals, and as they made camp the first night he was delighted to cook again for everyone. He prepared tiny beef cutlets from a slab of roast he had brought and made a sauce from red wine and conveniently discovered mushrooms, served with the remnant of a loaf of bread. After the meal, Nur turned to Frar and sighed, passing over a few coins. Thorin asked sharply what the bet had been, and Frar grinned broadly. "I told him that Master Baggins' food would be amazing, and he didn't believe me." Nur sighed again and nodded as he mopped a final scrap of bread around his plate, but grinned up at Bilbo from under his brows. The hobbit blushed and stammered some words of thanks, but he was both amused and exasperated as Thorin scowled and then became a constant presence at his side for the rest of the night. Bilbo finally settled down next to his husband (though not without a fond eyeroll for his obvious jealousy). The second day passed in much the same way, the familiar rattling thud of the cart wheels and silence of the dwarves seeming either comfortable or oppressive depending on Bilbo's mood at the moment.

By the third day they had emerged back out into the spotty copses and open spaces of the far Westfarthing... and the punishing August sun. Based on what Bilbo remembered about the trip out, they were still about two days give or take from Hobbiton, but all the heat the forest had blocked was now around and the thick, almost soupy late summer air made everything hazy and dull. The shrill chirping of locusts and other insects were all around, and the occasional cry of a hawk in the distance filled the day. A flock of crows followed them for about an hour, cawing and sounding almost as if they were laughing. They flew overhead in elaborate spirals and looped around each other for the sheer joy of flying. Bilbo watched and laughed at their antics though Thorin looked at him as though he were mad. The hobbit felt a kinship with those birds in a way. He had left his home unsure of where he was going, uncertain of most things but sure only of his love for the dwarf at his side; he returned home a scant few weeks later, married and beginning to settle himself into the sort of loving partnership he never thought he would be lucky enough to have. If he could, Bilbo thought he would be turning midair loops with the crows himself. He glanced over at the sour-looking dwarf riding beside his cart. As if on cue, Thorin glanced over and the look of utter devotion on his face almost knocked Bilbo off the wagon. As soon as their eyes met, Thorin gave a small smile and flushed, looking around before turning his face quickly back to the road and leaving Bilbo with a sudden warmth in his heart. Yes, Bilbo thought joyfully. Definitely flying.

=

The last night before they reached Hobbiton, Bilbo lay on the baked earth next to Thorin. After a kiss goodnight, he had to roll away from his husband's fierce warmth; he already felt he was melting lying on soil which radiated its daytime heat through his bedroll. To embrace a lit forge like Thorin was far too much, even if that forge was inside a dearly beloved dwarf. Deep breathing from his husband's direction showed that he was asleep. Even so, it was calm enough there in the abandoned edge of the Shire, just outside the outermost farms of the Westfarthing. The darkness around them was alive with crickets and the nightsongs of owls and other nocturnal birds, and bats could be seen darting and diving in the twilight gloaming until the stars were fully out. The gentle hiss of the breezes blowing in the tall grasses nearby soothed Bilbo to sleep. 

He dreamed that he was traveling along the road by himself, half-walking half-floating in that way that movement in dreams was never quite one or the other. The scene was lit with a grey light, neither day nor night. Sooner than seemed possible he reached the edge of Hobbiton, passing the old bound-stone and coming along the track past the Bolger farm, past the piggery at Owlfeather Farms, and everywhere he looked was dim and quiet and still. There were no hobbits in sight, no farmers or animals in the field, no fieldhands tending the crops, just deep foreboding silence in all directions. He felt a bit worried, but thought surely it must be a festival that he'd forgotten about; once he got to the Party Tree, he would see everyone, but no... the party field was empty and still as well. By now he was becoming more than a bit disturbed. Where was everyone? He passed along the lane up to Bag End, and when he got there, his smial was unaccountably missing. The Hill was just that... only a hill. In the place Bag End should be was just an empty spot in the grass. No door, no windows, no garden, though strangely the wall and gate were still there.

Bilbo walked into the space with tentative, halting steps, unsure whether to scream or cry. Everything he knew was gone, somehow. What magic could have done such a thing? As he approached where the smial used to be, should have been, he saw a tiny, dark shoot poking out of the ground. As he knelt to examine it, it began to grow, putting out branches and limbs and leaves, until the whole top of the Hill was covered in an iron rosebush with silvery metal flowers. A glow appeared and strengthened at the edges of the petals of each steel rose, a pure true light like the sun, yellow and warm. It grew swiftly as the bush had, a blaze of joyous radiance pouring from the silver blossoms, the only thing right in this dim, silent not-Shire. Smiling, Bilbo fell forward into the light and then woke to see that it was sunlight shining into his closed eyes. A dark shape stepped close and stood over him, blocking the bright rays.

"Good morning, _mizimel_ ," Thorin said gently, smiling tenderly in a way that told Bilbo that the other two dwarves were far enough away not to see. "Sleep well?"

"I dreamed..." he started, then stopped and smiled back. "Yes, I think I did. Good morning." Suddenly shy in a way he hadn't felt around Thorin in quite a while, he looked down, then up through his lashes. The light from the dream roses blazed in the blue eyes in front of him, in the gentle smile, in the hand half-outstretched towards the hobbit, and Bilbo saw it so strongly his heart gave a lurch in his chest. "I love you."

"And I you, my heart," came the soft reply. The moment stretched, then snapped as Frar's voice called across the campsite. The hobbit took the offered hand and scrambled to his feet. Smiling together as if they were sharing a joke instead of a deeply personal moment, Bilbo went to prepare a late breakfast as Thorin helped to pack the wagon.

=

The cart rattled into Hobbiton in the late afternoon just before dusk. Bilbo was surprised at how much comfort he derived from the familiar sights of hobbits finishing up the day's tasks, waving from the fields, and generally appearing calm and familiar. He remembered the last time he had come home from a trip, and the lingering, bone-deep oddness he had felt for weeks. Travel changed a person; conversations that would be commonplace before he had left had seemed stilted on his return, customs that were never questioned now got examined. It had taken Bilbo months to stop feeling like a stranger in his own life, like he was wearing a suit of clothes that no longer quite fit. This trip, though, he felt like he had barely been gone. He felt more stable on returning instead of less. Bilbo glanced over at Thorin, sun glowing from the white streaks in his hair, and felt the warmth of the light from his dream once again. He realized another key difference; instead of coming back with only a miserable longing and unfulfilled desire, this time he was returning with a living, breathing person he loved. Rhoda was hanging wash out on the line and shrieked when the cart appeared, calling Ham around the corner to shout and wave, and Bilbo had a proper homecoming and welcome. No Lobelia having his things carted out and sold this time, Bilbo laughed to himself. The dwarves had barely begun to unpack and carry the first packages into Bilbo's smial (and wouldn't the bloody door choose that particular moment to stick, as he was trying to open it!) before a shout from the lane heralded the arrival of a small, black-haired tornado that grabbed Bilbo in a fierce hug before he even knew what was going on.

"Mister Bilbo! Youcamebackyoucamebackyoucameback," came the breathless chant from where Freddy's face was pressed into Bilbo's chest. He juggled the bag of items he was holding for a moment before laughing at a surprised Thorin and passing the bag to him. Once his hands were free, he stroked the head of black curls and laughed happily.

"Yes, my lad, we came back, exactly as I told you we would! Did you doubt us? Step back and let me look at you!" He held the boy out at arm's length, choosing for the moment to ignore the tears running down the faunt's cheeks. "Good heavens! Fredegund Deepleaf, you've grown an inch and I've not been gone a month! What have they been feeding you?" Freddy's gulping giggle was music to Bilbo's ears. "It's good to see you lad, and once I get these things inside the house and put away, I will have a look in the garden and in the larder and see what sort of meal I can come up with... though I warn you now it will be catch-as-catch-can for a day or two until I can get restocked."

"I missed you," Freddy said in a tiny voice, sniffling again.

"Oh, Freddy," Bilbo sighed. "No need for tears now, we've already returned! You remember Mister Frar, I would imagine, and this is Mister Nur," the grizzled warrior eyed the tiny hobbit curiously but gave a half-bow, then grinned broadly when Freddy bowed low and very properly indeed. Well, Bilbo thought, he's clearly not forgotten his manners! "And of course Thorin will need to speak to you about your duties in the forge and what to expect. I think he's arranged metal to be sent in from the mountains, so..." Bilbo and Freddy continued to catch up as the cart was unloaded quickly and he went inside to put everything into its proper place. Freddy was appalled to hear about the goblins, though glad that they had been such a relatively light threat, and Bilbo was interested to hear the news of Hobbiton in his absence. Once he got inside he noticed that the smial smelled a bit fusty and stale from being shut up, so Bilbo made his first task to go around and open as many windows as possible, letting a bit of air in. As he was doing this in the library, a deep voice interrupted.

" _Mizimel_ , I have my things," came the voice of his husband. "Where should I put them?" Thorin had a box almost the size of himself over one shoulder and Bilbo felt warm at the memory of that strength under him. He turned and looked, admiring the way Thorin's arms were rippling with muscle as he held the large crate.

"Why, in our room of course, where else?" He smiled before he even thought about what he had said. A surprised squeak from the hall indicated that Freddy was much closer than Bilbo had thought. Bilbo closed his eyes in mute annoyance, because of course he was; every faunt had a knack for being where they weren't supposed to be, and Freddy had enough of that gift for three normal faunts. He glanced up to see Thorin still frozen in the door, giving him a look that combined love and uncertainty. Bilbo snorted in amusement, then realized at his husband's tiny grin exactly how dwarven that snort had sounded. "We'll bring in another wardrobe or even more if needed. Were you honestly of the opinion you'd be staying somewhere else? Thorin!" His voice was both fond and exasperated and the dwarf smiled in spite of himself.

"I..." the familiar flush was faintly visible, even in the dark hallway. "As you say." The dwarf moved away, revealing a faunt who was grinning ear to ear in a quite impertinent fashion.

"Something you wish to say, young sir?" Bilbo asked crisply, raising one eyebrow. "No? Good, then let's discuss the lessons you should have been having while I was away." A look of despair made the older hobbit grin tightly. He strolled past Freddy into the kitchen. "I was going to ask you to demonstrate your writing, but I'd rather do that with a tablet in proper light, so... Tell me, who was Arvedui, and what did he do?" He half-heard the groan behind him as he caressed his iron teapot, which had gone unused for far too long. I missed you, old friend, he thought, then began to fill it with water as Freddy tried to remember the events of the last days of Fornost.

=

After a meal that was as odd an assortment of foods as Bilbo thought had ever been served to a guest at his table, Freddy had been sent back to the Greenfields' with a note of thanks to the couple from Bilbo for taking such good care of his ward. Bilbo relaxed in his favorite chair in the study next to Thorin as the dwarf was designing some sort of project on paper. The hobbit had peered in confusion at the sketch once or twice, strong swirling lines surrounded by runes of Daenor, but he couldn't make heads or tails of it. He had finally retreated into a book of chronicles from Arnor. As the hobbit was trying to unpick a complicated genealogical tree, a muffled curse made him look up. "Problem?"

"The sides don't balance. I'll have to redraft this tomorrow." A deep sigh followed, and Thorin rubbed at his eyes. "It's late, I will..." He stopped, blushing. Bilbo's attention was suddenly quite focused.

"Yes, it's late," he said in a silky voice. "Perhaps it's time for... bed." Bounding up from his seat, he was at Thorin's side and leaning in to steal a kiss from his husband's surprised mouth in front of the picture of the same dwarf, smiling at the two of them from mere feet away. Bilbo ran his fingers through Thorin's hair, smoothing out a small tangle and reveling in the catch in his husband's breath. "Don't you think?"

"I..." Words seemed to fail as Bilbo's hand caressed his hair. "Yes. Bed. Yes." Standing, he looked down for a moment at the hobbit smiling pertly up at him. Seconds later, the sound of a surprised squawk rang out through the smial. Thorin grinned broadly as he carried a protesting Bilbo down the hall towards the bedroom.

"Have you lost your... Thorin... Thorin! Put me down! The very idea of... _mmf_ ," It was Bilbo's turn to be at a loss for words, though that had more to do with the deep kiss he was receiving than a lack of things to say. Bilbo's usually clean room was a tangle of his half-unpacked luggage, Thorin's practically untouched luggage, and various items strewn here and there, and the hobbit found that he barely noticed. By the time he was placed as gently on the bed as a jewel set on a velvet cloth, his head was spinning with desire. He soon found that (although he was glad he hadn't waited) having sex with his husband in his (their!) very own bed was every bit as magical as he had hoped and dreamed and wanted that it might be. Afterwards, cleaned up and lying in the dozy afterglow, he looked round the wreckage of his bedroom and mused drowsily about the probable reaction of the hobbit he had been even a year ago, confronted with such radical disorder. He giggled softly in spite of himself.

"What are you thinking, my heart?" rumbled Thorin from where he lay sprawled beside Bilbo, giving the hobbit a look radiant as a forge.

Bilbo smiled back with eyes that refused to stay open. "Thinking of how lucky I am, love. And sleepy." He chuckled. "But mostly lucky. And tomorrow, when I'm no longer sleepy, I'll still be lucky." He fought to raise on one elbow and pressed a kiss into the beard of his husband, flopping down in triumph after doing so. "Now snuff the lamp, please."

=

Over the next few days, Bilbo restocked the pantry and cold-well and got their meals sorted back to what he considered the proper level of cooking. All pretense of Freddy eating dinner elsewhere had been set aside, and the faunt was a constant presence at dinner (and any other meal he could arrange). Thankfully this wasn't much of a burden - and truthfully was rather more of a blessing - as food poured in from all over Hobbiton once word got out that they had returned and that Thorin's 'dwarven ritual' was complete. He and Thorin had dinner the second night at Ham and Rhoda's, accompanied by Freddy at the Gamgee's insistence, and both Ham and Rhoda were speechless to receive their gifts. They returned to Bag End laden with even more food, some of which they sent with Freddy to the Greenfields' and some of which was stored in the smial. Frar and Nur headed back to Shahrulbizad on the third day with a letter thanking Dis for everything and giving explicit instructions that she was to come visit often, thank you very much. As soon as the group had returned to Hobbiton, Thorin had set up some sort of metal contraption on top of the house and muttered something about ravens, but Bilbo was far too worried with his garden and the shameful emptiness of his larder to pay it very much mind since it wasn't visible from the door of the smial.

On the fifth day after their return, Bilbo spent the morning giving the house what his mother always referred to as a "proper cleaning", which involved moving the furniture, scrubbing the floors, shaking out the rugs and generally disrupting each room in turn. He was delighted that Thorin and Freddy were at the forge all day since it freed him from having to worry about chasing them from room to room or feeding them (though he felt a bit guilty at the thought, which he considered a bit churlish). He would normally have spent the morning with his flowers, but since he had returned to an immaculate and well-tended garden thanks to Hamfast there wasn't much to do. That afternoon, after the last carpet had been thoroughly beaten and put back, Bilbo was sitting on his bench and smoking a pipe when a black shape lit on the ground in front of him. He jumped, startled, but recognized the leather pouch around the raven's neck even before it spoke.

"Durin!" the black bird croaked, preening its feathers a bit. " _Mannur_! Durin." Pecking at something on the ground, one jet-black eye turned to Bilbo and looked him up and down. Quite dismissively, he felt. Rude bird.

"Thorin isn't here at the moment, if you can understand me," he said suspiciously. "He's at the smithy in town, if you wish to find him," the hobbit said with a wave of his pipestem down the Hill, "or you can wait." The raven showed no sign of comprehension, repeating the same two words insistently. Bilbo gave up. Sighing, he went in the house and fetched it some meat scraps on a simple wooden plate. Leaving the bird wolfing down the meat appreciatively, Bilbo went back inside but almost immediately there was a pecking at the door. He opened it to reveal a glaring raven.

" _Mannur_!" it practically shouted. "Durin!" THe hobbit pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering if this was to be his lot in life from now on.

"Stay here," he said sternly. As he went back to his room, he heard a sound from the bird suspiciously like a chuckle, but a sharp glance revealed only the bird peering about itself in the entryway. Who knew how much trouble being married to a dwarf would be?, he wondered sourly, even as he went to put on a waistcoat and proper coat. He was only in his shirtsleeves, and it would be highly improper to be out traipsing about in such a state of undress. A loud croak from the hall reminded him of his impatient visitor, and he called out a surly "Just a moment!" as he pulled on his coat and peered at himself in his mirror, running a hand through his curls. Good enough, he supposed, since he was only going to the smithy. "Come on, then," he said as he stepped into the hall. The raven looked up - Bilbo was _certain_ that was a bloody chuckle! - and hopped outside, looking back in as if to say _well_?

" _Mannur_!" it repeated self-importantly, then flapped up and perched on his shoulder. The hobbit sighed and set off down the hill, one shoulder burdened with a surprisingly heavy bird. He strongly hoped he wouldn't be seen by anyone, as the last thing he wanted was any more strangeness laid to his account. Luck was with him, as he arrived at the smithy without being spotted by anyone and he shook the heavy bird off into the yard before knocking at the door.

"Thorin!" he called. "You have a very impatient visitor." 

The dwarf stuck his head out of the door, smiling at Bilbo curiously. " _Mizimel_ ," he said cautiously. "I hadn't expected you. For what reason are you impatient? Did I forget something?"

"No," Bilbo said, chuckling and waving at the raven. "What does _mannur_ mean, anyway?"

Thorin looked at the raven and sighed. " _Mannur_ is Khuzdul for 'I carry a message'." He made an odd clicking noise at the raven, which promptly hopped onto his hand and let him remove its pouch before flying up to the eaves. After only a brief glance inside the message bag, Bilbo saw the dwarf's shoulders slump. "Oh."

"Dis certainly didn't waste any time writing, did she? Do you think everything is alright?" Bilbo thought his husband looked awfully upset, and began to feel worried.

"This is..." Thorin sighed deeply and turned back towards the inside of the forge. "I will close the forge for the night; I was done with my work for the day anyway."

"Thorin," Bilbo said cautiously. "What's wrong?" He received a bitter laugh in return.

"This letter is not from my sister. It bears the seal of Erebor. It seems word of my survival has reached the mountain." Leaving a very surprised Bilbo outside, Thorin went back inside the building to close up.


	29. Chapter 29

The walk back to the house was silent. Bilbo tried several times to get a reaction, but after the third attempt to speak was met with no response, he just shook his head and let it pass. Once they got back inside, however, he decided that it was time to drag whatever this new issue was into the light. "Well?" he asked the dwarf. Thorin was seated at the kitchen table but looked a thousand miles away, staring off into space. Bilbo was getting food together, but paused and glanced back at the dwarf. "You haven't even opened that letter, Thorin! You can't possibly be this upset this quickly. What's the real problem?" The only response was a grunt. Bilbo was tempted to force the issue for a moment, but remembered that Freddy would be arriving at any second and he had no food prepared. So be it, he thought. Sit and brood a while longer. When Freddy goes home, though, this gets thrashed out before we go to bed, whether you know it or not, my husband.

Dinner was uncharacteristically tense. Freddy came in his usual vibrant, chattering self, but seemed to realize quickly that something was amiss. After seeing Thorin staring glumly into his plate, his responses to Bilbo grew shorter and softer until finally the last third of the meal was finished in silence. Bilbo tried to make conversation, but with Thorin casting a pall over the room and Freddy's constant and increasingly worried glances at his employer, he finally gave it up as a lost cause and bundled the boy off back to the Greenfields. His heart ached when Freddy asked at the door "It's... not something I did, is it?" in a miserable voice.

"Absolutely not," the older hobbit replied. "We would speak to you rather than brood, and you should know that by now. I have no idea what's wrong with my husband, to tell you the..." he realized what he had said and could have bitten his tongue, but Freddy went from fearful to fascinated in seconds.

"Your _husband_? Mister Bilbo, did you... do um, dwarves get married when it's two men, then?" the faunt asked.

Bilbo sighed and closed his eyes briefly. "Yes, they do." Seeing the faunt's face light up and knowing the next question, he cut him off. "And yes, we did, while I was in the mountains, though that isn't what we went for. And that's nobody's business who isn't in this room, young sir," he said with a stern look. Freddy drew himself up like a much older hobbit, all haughty looks and offended dignity.

"Ee sir, tha' well ken...!" the boy stopped and flushed, realizing that he had slipped back into his old Marish dialect, then tried again. "That is, I don't tell nobody nothing that goes on here and well you should know it! If there's gossip about, it's not from me!" And with that, Freddy crossed his arms and looked put out, though Bilbo could tell he was nervous. He couldn't stop himself from hugging the faunt if he tried.

"I know, Freddy, I'm sorry to even seem to doubt you," he said, pretending not to hear the sudden sniffle, "but if I don't say it I don't feel quite right. You know how loose Hobbiton tongues are," he snickered, and Freddy giggled in spite of himself. "Now give the Greenfields my regards, if you'd be so kind, and I'm going to go badger whatever this problem is out of Thorin. Alright?" Jet black curls bobbed as the boy nodded, then took off out the door which Bilbo closed behind him with a sigh. Now then, he thought, on to battle. He went back into the dining room where Thorin was gathering up plates as if in a daze. "Thank you, Thorin," he said sweetly, and waited until the dwarf had carried them into the kitchen before planting himself directly in Thorin's way as he tried to return to the dining room.

After two attempts to go around Bilbo, Thorin finally looked up. " _Mizimel_?"

"Ah, noticed me, did you?" Bilbo said archly. "Good, I'd begun to think I had my ring on and just hadn't realized. Thorin..." he stepped up chest to chest with his husband and wrapped his arms around him, pressing a quick kiss into his beard and drawing back to look at him. "What's got you so disturbed? You haven't even opened the letter you got yet." Thorin flushed and mumbled for a moment, but finally sighed.

"It..." he trailed off. Bilbo kissed him again and ran a hand along his husband's groin, pressing into the flesh beneath the trousers with a firm hand and making Thorin lurch upright and stare in blushing dismay at his husband.

"Whatever it takes to make you answer me," Bilbo murmured sweetly, "I will do."

"I... that... uh..." Judging from the dwarf's face, Thorin wasn't sure whether the appropriate response was to smile broadly or look appalled. Thinking of what he just did and how long he had waited to be able to do something similar, Bilbo honestly wasn't sure himself. Even so...

"The letter?" Bilbo reminded him.

"Yes," he sighed. "I recognize the raven from Shahrulbizad. Dis received the letter there and sent it on here, unopened. There was a short note inside from her saying that she had sent word to Fili and Kili that I yet lived, though not when. I... worry about what they may have said." Bilbo resisted the urge to bang his forehead on the wall, but it was a close thing.

"Thorin, my dear one," he began, "the letter is right there. Just open it. I won't say you are being ridiculous, but honestly, what is the worst thing they could possibly tell you? They ran off together and left the mountain to Dain? There's another dragon? The Arkenstone turned out to be an egg and hatched out a balrog? What on earth do you think they have said? I'm sure they are just delighted that their uncle is still..." he swallowed through a suddenly tight throat, as he did each time he thought about how close a call it had been. "Still alive. They do love you, Thorin."

"Yes. I know." Thorin sidestepped and Bilbo let him pass, walking with him to sit at the table. "There are many things they could tell me that I fear, my heart. That they cannot be kings, and demand that I come back. That I must return immediately for the good of the kingdom. That others died because I was not there. Such thoughts are like spears in my heart." Before the _adal_ , Bilbo would have thought this all just dwarven melodrama, but now... he thought he understood. These were fears that were based in the life Thorin had lived, and he could see how such fears would arise, especially considering his husband's life before they met. He reached out and took the dwarf's hand.

"Thorin, tell me..." he began. "If you _had_ died, what then?" He glanced up, seeing the stunned look on the dwarf's face.

"What do you mean?" Thorin sputtered.

"If you had died during the trip here from the mountain. Say that you never made it to Hobbiton, or if I hadn't been here, or you were eaten by wolves, or any of a thousand things happened that might have done. What then? Are you still somehow to blame?" Bilbo rubbed his thumb across the muscular, callused hand he held, over and over, trying to provide comfort while hoping Thorin would see his point. "What would they have done then?"

"They..." Thorin looked down at the tabletop, jaw working and hand tense in Bilbo's grasp. "They would have to solve it themselves somehow, if I were dead. There would be nothing I could do for them."

"Exactly. But my question is, would it be your fault if they weren't able to solve whatever problem had arisen?" Bilbo asked quietly. "Even if you were dead, would you still somehow magically be to blame, if something happened somewhere to someone that you had once helped?"

"I..." Thorin stopped, staring at Bilbo with an anguished expression. "Well, no, but..."

"Thorin, listen to me. Did you leave them because you just felt like it? Was all that about dying just an excuse for you to run off and abandon your duties?" At Thorin's horrified look, Bilbo continued before he could even respond. "No, of course you didn't. They knew you weren't lying. As far as they knew, you were dead, and you thought you were a dead dwarf walking as well. So set these fears aside, at least a bit, and realize that your true gift to your nephews was to teach them how to deal with problems whether you were there or not. You fulfilled your responsibilities, whatever has happened; you must know that. Besides, it is not as though they do not have Balin, Dwalin, Dain and whoever else to help; you don't have to do everything for everyone, you know." He smiled at his stubborn husband, kissing the back of his hand which was still clutched in his. "And whatever they write to tell you, we will deal with. Together. Because hear me now, Thorin Oakenshield." He stared fiercely into blue eyes that were looking at him with shock, but his voice was as stern as it had ever sounded. Making use of everything he knew of dwarven culture, he snapped "You are _mine. My_ husband, and that heart which you claim is pierced by spears is mine as well. I will fight to protect what is mine if I must. There is no trouble you will ever face that I will not fight against with you, if I can, but I share you with no-one, no matter their supposed claim." He stopped in surprise as Thorin's eyes went black with desire.

"That... is the most dwarven thing you have ever said, my _azyungel_ ," Thorin rumbled, voice raspy with lust. "And yes, my heart, I am yours as you are mine, until the end of the world and beyond." The dwarf drew in a shuddering breath, then let it go again. "Thank you." Bilbo nodded, pressing another kiss to the callused hand he held before releasing it. As soon as he let go, Thorin's hands came up and cupped his face, and the dwarf leaned over and gave Bilbo a kiss of surpassing sweetness. The dwarf pulled back and smiled, and the hobbit thought he could feel himself practically melting into in his chair. "Together."

Bilbo pulled himself together and nodded. "Even so. Together. Now... I will fix you a glass of wine and myself a cup of tea, and you will go read that letter and tell me what it says. Alright?" Thorin nodded, and with one long, lingering look went back into the study with the letter in question. Sighing and feeling more tired than he had since returning, Bilbo prepared the teapot and went to the wine cellar while it was heating. He went to the very back, where the truly good wines were kept, and was surprised when he found a bottle of Old Winyards 2890 from the vineyards in the Southfarthing. This was from a good year, the year of his birth in fact, and he remembered that it had been a gift from a friend of his father's 'for Bilbo's marriage'. It had become a family joke for a bit before being forgotten, as such things were. He cleaned it and set it out, but this wasn't the occasion for that. Soon, though, he smiled to himself. He picked up a more recent bottle and returned to the kitchen as the kettle was giving its first breathy whistle.

When he entered the study, his eyes flew to Thorin's face and were delighted to see no trace of misery, only a melancholy look. Setting the glass of wine near Thorin's hand, he settled himself nearby and smiled. "What news, then?"

Thorin sighed and his eyes slid to Bilbo and away. Ah, the hobbit thought. Embarrassment. This should either be very good or very bad. "They are... delighted to hear of my survival." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "As you suspected. The letter is quite... emotional." Bilbo found the urge to run his hands over his husband almost irresistible when the dwarf flushed like that. Forcing his hands to his sides (he really did want to hear the rest of the news, after all) he leaned back.

"Mm," the hobbit murmured noncommittally, reminding himself suddenly and unpleasantly of Lobelia. He grimaced and hurried on, "That is to say, no terrible news, though?"

"No," Thorin replied, staring at the letter and sounding almost disappointed. "Just congratulations and some... unexpectedly intrusive questions." Thorin cleared his throat again and his expression told Bilbo that he would have to demand a detailed translation at some point in the near future, but he reminded himself that point was not tonight. Eyeing Thorin's visible embarrassment, it would be a _very_ detailed translation. Refusing to make eye contact with his husband, Thorin continued, skimming onwards from where he had paused, "They also send word of the mountain, and of our companions among others you did not meet. Gloin was finally officially confirmed as Lord of Coin in truth, not just acting as such... Balin is still Minister, but Fili says he has strange plans, though he tells them not... Ori is close to confirmation as Chief Scribe since Balgru died unexpectedly... Dwalin is... _Targu Durinul_!" Thorin sat staring at the letter as though it had burst into flames. He took a moment to read more fully, then sat back as though stunned. "Dwalin is betrothed. A daughter of the house of Gorm from the Iron Hills... I will, uh, I mean we will have to send a gift." Thorin's apprehensive glance at Bilbo warmed at the kind expression on the hobbit's face and even more at his nod, as though to say 'well of course'. 

"When you write them back... which you must... tell them they are all welcome to visit us here, if you please." Thorin's expression was surprised for a moment, but then gave way to a smile that lit the room.

After a moment, the dwarf's eyes slid back to the parchment. "Ahh... Bifur found a seam of emeralds in the twelfth deep that bids to eclipse even the ones given to Girion! That is great news! It seems that there was a seam of black shale near the magma pipe that rose near the mountain's heart..." and Thorin proceeded to wander off into the same sort of blow-by-blow geological exposition that had characterized so many conversations in Shahrulbizad. Bilbo curled up on the couch, content to pretend to pay attention, and smiled. In spite of himself he had to wonder how much of the letter was actually news as Shirefolk would consider news, and how much of it was just geology. Either way, it was a small price to pay to see his husband look happy again.

=

The next day Thorin seemed to be in a much better mood, though Bilbo was once again walking a bit gingerly for... very good reasons. Thorin vanished out the door to the forge, still catching up on work that had been waiting on his return, and Bilbo decided to have a restful day at home, lazing about and cooking and doing a bit of reading. The day was thrown into complete confusion by Fortinbras, who showed up early enough that Bilbo could only assume he had left the Great Smial at sunrise, and stayed the rest of the day. He adored his new walking stick, and Bilbo finally gave him the long-awaited story (after swearing him to secrecy, though who knew how useful that might actually prove) of how he knew Thorin and what their relationship was. He somehow forgot to mention that Thorin had abandoned a throne for love, or the small matter of their marriage, or any of the other bits he had promised to keep secret... which were many. It was hard going dancing around all the secret bits of dwarf lore, but even so enough of the bones of the story came through that the usually mature Thain was swooning like a teenager by the end of it. Eventually Bilbo ended up teasing him that he sounded like one of their grandmother's friends with all his talk of "star-crossed love" and such like, and they moved on to the more usual Shire gossip. By the time Fortinbras (finally!) left, Bilbo's husband had returned home with Freddy close behind. Thorin's face was enough to make Bilbo and the faunt both collapse into helpless giggles when Fortinbras embraced the dwarf in the door and called him his "new cousin" before taking his leave.

"What was all that about?" a confused Thorin asked plaintively.

"Welcome to the Shire," was all a grinning Bilbo said in return, going into the kitchen where his snickers continued to be heard through the preparation of the evening meal.

=

Three days later, Bilbo heard the door open and closed his eyes in mute annoyance. "Bilbo, _mizimel_ , what is..." Thorin stood in the door of the kitchen, mouth agape, at the unaccustomed sight of Bilbo whirling around his kitchen completely flustered.

"Out," the hobbit said sharply. "Tom and Hugo will be here in less than an hour and I'm not even close to ready. If you wish to make yourself useful, go and change into proper receiving clothes. A wash of your face and hands wouldn't go amiss either, if you don't fancy a proper bath." Bilbo cracked the oven to peek at the pies baking inside. Without looking around, he flapped one hand. "Go on, there's nothing to do here but be in the way." He could tell from Thorin's receding sigh that he had gone and a pang of regret twinged at him. He didn't know how to explain the tangle of emotions running through his mind. He knew that he had been harsh, but... memories of Dis' shouting, Bofur's incredibly personal observations, and Kili's endless fascination with comparing things to genitalia all sprang to mind and Bilbo thought (not for the first time) that perhaps his definition of 'harsh' wasn't a dwarvish one. Even so, he _felt_ as though he'd been harsh, and resolved to make Thorin some turnip cakes or similar to apologize. For now, however, he had prepared a salad of white cheese and baby beets and had an enormous pork loin braising in its own juices, cinnamon baked carrots, roasted sprouts and two fresh apple pies all cooking at once, and he felt as though he were juggling a few items too many.

Later, after the two older hobbits had arrived and Bilbo had set his perfectly cooked food on the table, he felt a bit silly for all the worry and fuss. Thorin had emerged at their arrival freshly scrubbed and wearing clothes from Shahrulbizad more suited to royalty than the town smith, receiving no reaction from Hugo but a raised eyebrow and look of curiosity from Tom. The dwarf was resplendent in an embroidered surcoat of rich blue with the sigil of Durin worked in silver on the breast over a white silk shirt, fitted dark trousers and boots of a buttery, rich black leather that made Bilbo stop and look at his husband with a rather inappropriate look when he first saw him. Freddy had been sent to the Greenfields' for dinner. Only one thing was missing, and Bilbo left to go fetch it while Thorin spoke with the two elderly gentlemen.

Bilbo returned from the wine cellar to the sound of Tom asking "Wherever did you get that coat, Mister Thorin? It's magnificent." He came around the corner to see Thorin's slight look of embarrassment, but the dwarf's eyes warmed on seeing his husband return.

"Our craftsmen do not work only in iron and stone, Master Tom. My friend Dori son of Uri made it for me before we left together on the trip to... on the trip where Bilbo and I met." Bilbo braced himself for the leers from the two older hobbits, and they didn't disappoint him. After a moment, though, they returned their attention to Thorin.

"None of that 'Master Tom', foolishness, if you please! Call me just Tom, if you will. Settling down with Bilbo makes you family." Tom smiled at him, and Hugo nodded amiably beside him.

"Ee, that it does!" Hugo said, "'e's a good'un, and if ye keep 'im well, ye're a good'un besides." Thorin bowed deeply.

"You honor me. Please call me Thorin as well, no need for honors. You are Bilbo's dear friends, and I appreciate your willingness to trust me solely on his good name. My own people would not be so open." He gave Bilbo a look but the hobbit scoffed at him.

"That's hardly true, everyone was perfectly lovely to me during our visit," Bilbo said, "... well, everyone except that scribe who was so upset, but she was just one out of so many it hardly matters. Shall we eat?" Everyone passed into the dining room. Bilbo held up his hand when everyone had seated themselves. When all eyes turned to him, he lifted a dusty bottle. "Tonight, I have a rather special treat... at least I hope it will be. This is a bottle of Old Winyards 2890. It was a gift from Erleman Bolger to my father when I was born, and it was given to be drunk at my marriage." Tom's eyes were moist and Thorin looked stunned, but Hugo beamed at him like a happy faunt. "It's taken a bit longer than anyone expected for me to settle down, but the time has come to drink it and I can't think of any more deserving company than you two. You've helped me through troubles, celebrated my victories, and kept me sane when my head was all to pieces. I love you both." With that he sat down looking a bit embarrassed. Tom was openly crying on Hugo's shoulder as his own husband comforted him.

"Me Tom is t' one for words, tha ken, Bilbo... but i'truth, you're the son we never 'ad, an' tha's a fact, young'un." For once the smiling face grew solemn and Tom was still weeping into his shoulder, but then they all pulled themselves together. Tom dabbed at his face with a napkin, but patted Hugo to thank him. He held up his glass once he received it.

"To Thorin," Tom proposed after they had all been served, and everyone pretended not to see how affected the dwarf was by that. After they all sipped their wine, the older hobbit exclaimed "Oh that's lovely!" and the laugh broke the tension a bit. With that, Bilbo began carving the pork roast and the meal began.

The meal progressed with many compliments on the food and a great deal of discussion of other meals and food in general, served and not served, where and to whom, to the point that Thorin looked utterly confounded by the end of dinner. Bilbo was effusive in his praise of the dwarven foods he had tasted from Colmu's kitchen, so much so that Tom at least seemed ready to set out to the Blue Mountains and introduce himself. Caught up in the moment, Thorin laughingly assured the dapper old hobbit that there was more to reaching the royal quarters in a dwarven city than simply marching up to the gates and demanding to speak to the cook. An odd silence blanketed the room as the dwarf realized what he had said and flushed. "Well," Bilbo said awkwardly, "that's certainly true, but..."

"Royal quarters?" Tom asked gently. Turning a puzzled face towards Bilbo, he asked softly "Bilbo, what on earth were you doing in the royal quarters?" Hugo snorted loudly, sounding particularly dwarvish.

"'E's a king, ain't 'e?" At the expressions on Bilbo and Tom's face, the old hobbit cackled, beaming behind his enormous white muttonchops. "I thought when I seen 'im, tha's a neck what never bowed in its life! 'E walks like a king. An' his sister were regent, how can ye no' ken? Good on ye, Bilbo! A king's no more'n ye deserve, young'un." And with that he went back to eating, still grinning merrily, as Tom's jaw dropped comically.

"Bilbo..." Tom's surprise seemed to have settled into something accusatory. Thorin had retreated behind his hair, which Bilbo knew now was a very bad sign, but he had this to deal with first. "Is there something you have to tell us?"

"I..." for a moment he was amazed that the older hobbit could still make a fifty-something grown hobbit feel like a wayward faunt. "I suppose I do, yes." He drew in a breath, and raised an eyebrow at Tom. "I have to tell you that it's none of your bloody business." Hugo's guffaw of delighted laughter brought Thorin's eyes peeping from under the curtain of hair, and Tom's comic expression of offense had the dwarf laughing in spite of himself. Even Bilbo chuckled, though he still felt a bit wrong-footed and awkward. "Hugo is... not wrong, but I... we... would both appreciate it very much if that bit of information didn't leave this table."

Thorin sighed and rumbled "I am king no longer. I left my throne to my nephews. Now I am indeed just Thorin the smith, so there is no need for concern." Tom was nodding faintly, eyeing Thorin's outfit and clearly adding things up in his mind. Finally he sat back and huffed a breath, clearly getting his head together.

"Well," he finally said in an arch, affected voice, "I suppose if anyone was going to marry a king from a faraway land, it _would_ be Bilbo Baggins!" Hugo gave another great shout of laughter at this, but Tom gave no indication he had heard anything. The dapper old hobbit shook himself and settled his frock coat on his shoulders, looking for all the world like an irritated magpie settling its feathers. "I will say, however, that I think it _quite rude_ of you not to let word get out. I, for one, would bankrupt myself just to see Lobelia Sackville-Baggins hear of it and watch her burst into flames on the _spot_ , enormous hat, hideous peach frock and all." Even Thorin laughed at that, and Bilbo grinned at him while savoring the image.

"No," Bilbo said regretfully, after a moment, "she wouldn't. She'd just come and say something utterly dreadful, and then Thorin would take a battleaxe to her. Not saying that's allowed, mind," he said sternly in Thorin's direction, quelling the bloodthirsty smile which was just forming below the black beard. "Then we'd end up at war with the dwarves, and that would be misery for everyone. Joking, joking," he said to Thorin's horrified expression. All the clowning about settled the awkwardness as it was intended to do, and the rest of the evening passed smoothly with everyone exclaiming over the pie and savoring the last of the wine, followed by tea. When Bilbo presented the couple with their silver salver set, even Hugo got a bit teary-eyed.

As the older couple were leaving, Bilbo hugged Hugo goodbye and Thorin walked him out as Tom dragged Bilbo into the study. He cast a glance at the picture, nodded once, and then turned to the younger hobbit. "Thank you for this dinner, it was all so very grand! But you must forgive me because I have to say I am so proud of you, Bilbo," he said. "Didn't I tell you it would all work out?" Bilbo nodded, but still wore a bittersweet smile.

"I never would have believed that it could, Tom, but yes... you're right. You did, and it has." They shared a look of deep affection. Tom's eyes shone in the lamplight. 

"You deserve every bit of happiness you get, my boy. And I'm so happy for you." Thorin came in and stopped, glancing from one to the other as Bilbo stepped up to him, sliding one arm around his waist.

"Not as happy as I am for myself." And with that the two older hobbits left, and Bilbo took his husband by the hand and led him down the hall. Outside the door to the cozy smial, the night noises of the Shire provided a compliment to the sighs and giggles coming from an open window at the top of the Hill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we come, at last, to the end. Thank you all so unbelievably much for sticking with me through this long and rambling work, for your support, your comments and your faith in these two boys to get where they needed to be. We've gone the long way 'round, and it is you guys who have made it possible. If my writing brought you half as much pleasure as your comments did to me, it was time well spent. 
> 
> Honestly, I could keep going forever, but I think this is a good place to leave it. Bilbo is home, Thorin is content, Freddy is being attended, Everyone is somewhere stable, which is more than anyone can say in real life :)
> 
> Love you all! <3 <3 <3


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